


With Wings

by levicas, Morgana_Jones1



Series: With Wings [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Anxiety, Asperger Syndrome, Basically John is a dick, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Child Abuse, Depression, Discrimination, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Gabriel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied or Off-stage Domestic Violence, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, References to Abuse, References to Child Abuse, References to Domestic Violence, References to Homophobia, References to Neglect, References to Suicide, Sexual Content, Smut, Teenage Winchesters, Verbal Abuse, Violence, Virgin Castiel, Virginity, Wing Kink, Wingfic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 108,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levicas/pseuds/levicas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana_Jones1/pseuds/Morgana_Jones1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is different, and this is something he's know all of his life. It's not just the fact that he's a highly intelligent awkward loner who finds it practically impossible to communicate like a normal human being. What sets him apart the most is the fact that he has a pair of wings sprouting from his back. However, due to the stigma of society and his wish to remain primarily unnoticed in high school, Castiel is forced to hide his wings from prying eyes.</p><p>Things take an odd turn when Dean Winchester appears to begin to take an interest him, especially since it's never been much of a secret that Castiel hates his guts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Castiel has Asperger's Syndrome, and at the time I began writing this I didn't know a great deal about it and I owe a lot to my friend Morgana_Jones who helped me a great deal with the writing of this fic, and therefore I listed her as co-author. 
> 
> Obviously, I don't own any of these characters and they all belong to the right people. I doubt they'd want to be owned by me anyway considering what I put them through. Oops.
> 
>  **EDIT:** I can't believe it's almost been four years since I wrote this! Even though I'm not as active in the SPN fandom as I once was, it will always be special for me. Thank you so much for all the support you've given me over the years! My writing has improved so much since this was written, largely to all the kind comments and encouragement from you guys! Without it, little sixteen year old me might not have continued writing as fervently as she did. Thanks a million!  <3
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

_Tell me where to find you_

_And tell me where to go_

_'Cause I've tasted all your affections_

_From my mind, my heart, my body and my soul_

_And I walk in a field with wings_

_I walk to you_

* * *

As much fun as summer had been – the heat had been glorious and the parties unbelievable, it had been the best three months of his life – Dean was excited to get back to school and begin his junior year. Anyone would think it was out of the ordinary for him, but he’d missed it. He missed his friends. The lessons and teachers - not so much. But most of all he’d missed being the King. Because that’s what he was at Lakeside High. The top of the food chain. Everyone was scared of him, and everyone adored him. Freshmen ran from him in the corridor; the cheerleaders worshipped him and hung on his every word; the jocks wanted to be him. And everyone wanted to shag him. Even the homophobic dicks who’d made a fuss – which had stopped nearly as soon as it had started after they'd realised he could beat the shit out of them with his eyes closed – about his sexuality. He figured he was bisexual, but he didn’t really like to label it. If people asked him about it, he’d just respond by lowering his head and giving them that smouldering stare from behind his long lashes and saying _honey, I can have whoever the hell I want_. And it was true. If Dean Winchester set his sights on you, not only was it an honour to have been chosen but there was also no chance you’d be able to escape him. That was made a lot easier by the fact that nobody ever really wanted to.

If you screwed Dean Winchester, you were cool by association and, unless he ordered otherwise, respected.

Jo Harvelle was probably the only human alive who didn’t look at him that way. People always said she was nuts, she was his best friend and could undoubtedly get him into bed without too much work. She probably would have done it, as well, if the thought of it didn't make her retch. That particular reaction was probably mostly to do with the fact that she'd known him since before she could walk. Both of them were pretty sure that if they did make it to bed it would feel far too much like incest for either of them to be comfortable.

If Dean was the King, then Jo was his Queen. In a totally platonic way. As previously discussed. Most of the girls he knew, particularly the cheerleaders, had been shocked by Dean’s choice of comradeship. They wouldn't ever have even thought to place the two together. Jo wasn’t a cheerleader, and she didn’t wear designer clothes or cake her face with makeup. She was nothing like the regular form of Queen Bee. She wasn’t even particularly girly. In fact, Dean had seen her knife collection (it was easily the coolest thing he’d ever laid eyes on) and he was about ninety per cent certain that her popularity was more to do with fear than anything else. People were scared of her, and she was smoking hot without trying. Most of the boys in the school had had a crush on her at some point, and many had tried to get into her pants to little avail. Some had attempted to do so by force but none of them really tried that anymore – not since she gave Johnny Branson a broken nose and made him infertile at Dean’s birthday party last year. That had sent a pretty clear message and most of the perverted male attention she got ground to a halt.

She insisted, with a sly wink, that she was fully intent on staying pure until marriage. It made Dean laugh when she said that, because he knew full well that she'd lost her virginity - er, several times - last year to her boyfriend at the time. Who was a jerk, by the way, and more than a little misogynistic. He'd broken Jo's heart and Dean had taught him a lesson or two about respecting women. She was practically his sister, and he'd gladly kick someone's ass for her any day. Either that or join in on said ass kicking while Jo threw the knock-out punches.

But Dean and Jo weren’t alone in the ruling of their kingdom, after all every reigning King and Queen needed a few knights, and they took the form of Jake Wilson (more muscle than you could shake a stick at, but not a slither of brain capacity), Josh Hewitt (the tallest damn kid this side of the pond and a pretty decent basketball player to boot), Kara James (the current girlfriend of Josh Hewitt, and also head cheerleader and a bit of a bitch), AJ Sawyer (captain of the football team, and most likely a closeted homosexual as far as Dean could tell. He’d been too good of a lay to have never done _that_ before), Ash (nobody knew his last name, most people said he didn’t have one, but he did all of Dean’s homework and Jo liked him so he didn’t really have any problems with the guy) and Meg Masters (resident slut, second only to Dean of course). They assisted Dean in controlling the masses, inciting fear into everyone he considered of lower class than him and maintaining order – or otherwise – in the kingdom. 

“Would you look at that, Wilson,” Dean murmured, cocking his head to the side and lacing his tone with rich sarcasm, excited to make his impression on the new meat. “It looks like there’s some freshmen on our table. What a shame.” 

Wilson was the hammer, the guy who delivered order and punishment to the unruly miscreants of the land. If you made your place on his metaphorical hit list, the you were in trouble and would most likely be sporting a few impressive bruises within a couple of hours. Luckily, nobody stayed on the aforementioned list for very long - he was nothing if not swift and efficient, despite his lack of brain cells. Besides, it would take far too much energy to hold a grudge against everyone who had ever wronged them.

“Oi!” Wilson wasted no time in getting straight to work. There was a hierarchy in this school, and he couldn’t let it slip away because of a few newcomers who didn’t know the way things worked around here. The kids turned around with daggers in their eyes, obviously thinking they’d be able to stand their ground. How precious. They weren’t weedy or nerdy, quite well built with good muscle tone for a couple of fourteen year olds. They didn’t even look scared, but that would all change soon.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re sitting at our table,” Josh said in a calm tone, one that Wilson would never be able to achieve. But that didn't mean he wasn't equally as threatening.

“It’s not _your_ table,” one of them said, standing up in a vague attempt at trying to face off his new playmates. He was tall, but had nothing on Josh and was definitely built for athleticism rather than strength. Wilson was the opposite, and neither of them really stood a chance against him unless they managed to outrun him. Even if they could, he’d find them. The longer you were on the hit list, the more severely you’d get the shit kicked out of you. Dean likened it to a plaster; best to rip it off quickly and get it over with. The kid seemed to weigh up his options, obviously coming to the same conclusion and slowly backing away from his assailants, constantly keeping a trained eye on Wilson's looming figure.

Dean was thankful for Wilson, it meant he didn’t have to act like a dick himself. He’d be popular either way, but Wilson ensured he didn’t have to do his own dirty work and he got to keep himself securely on top of his throne without much trouble. People didn’t dislike Dean, generally, in actuality most of them idolised him. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d been more than a backing figure in Wilson’s delivery of justice. The pranks were a different story, he almost always started those, and some of them were horrible, but people always managed to forgive him when he flashed them his beautiful smile and looked at them with his pretty green eyes before escorting them to the bedroom. He didn’t like having a violent reputation. He wanted to be adored, and he was.

“Watch your back, kid!” Wilson yelled after the two retreating figures, apparently not noticing that there was more than one of them or perhaps simply being too thick-skulled to understand how to use plurals.

It was then that Lisa Braeden caught Dean's eye from across the quadrangle, she was shaking her head in mock disapproval at the dramatics – it was only the first day for Christ’s sakes. She was the girl that Dean was _kindasorta_ dating at the moment. And by that he meant they’d had more than a one night stand and had held hands a couple of times. She had no problem with making out in public, so Dean liked her. Not just because of that, though – he wasn’t nearly as vain as people made him out to be. Or maybe he was, he couldn't really be sure but it wasn't like it mattered. She was also gorgeous and funny and pretty damn smart too. About half the chicks he’d screwed went around pretending to be some sort of dumbass bimbo, and it was cringe worthy more than anything. There was something about a girl being able to completely surpass his academic achievements (which were little above average, but they'd be more if he bothered to apply himself) and hold up her end of a decent conversation that he found a gigantic turn on. Intelligence was sexy. End of.

“Hey, Lise!” he called, a cocky smile forming on his face as he made his way to her side to scoop her up and swing her round. It was a calculated move, not alone did it make the current object of his affections feel completely on top of the world, it also made any other future courtesans extremely jealous and increased their desire to hook up with him. He gently placed her down and wrapped his arms around her, carefully placing his hands in intimate places that weren’t too brazen for a school setting, and crashed their mouths together in a passionate kiss. He was just thinking about how soft Lisa’s lips felt against his own when he was shocked out of his reverie by someone inelegantly colliding with him.

He broke the kiss and swiveled on the balls of his feet, searching for whoever had ruined the moment with his almost-girlfriend. His gaze settled on a wide pair of sapphire eyes, locked somewhere between fear and hatred. The latter shocked him more than it should’ve done – the fear was to be expected, but hatred? Nobody would dare glare at him in such a way, especially with Wilson around. Before Dean – or Wilson, for that matter – had time to react, the boy was gone. He scampered away with a book clutched to his chest.

Part of Dean’s mind told him he should recognise this kid, but he couldn’t quite place him. Almost like a mirage, or some kind of illusion. There one minute and gone the next; and you’d never be certain if you’d really seen him or not. A bit like that one neighbourhood cat that you're sure must have a home, but yet doesn't seem completely out of place wandering the streets.

“Want me to get ‘im?” Wilson growled, his viscous eyes fixating on the boy as he made his way to a bench in the far corner of the quadrangle behind a shrub which seemed to be strategically placed for him to hide behind.

“Nah, just…leave it,” Dean said, watching as the small figure behind the shrub folded his knees to his chest and pull a book out. “You know the drill.”

* * *

The drill Dean had been referring to, it seemed, was to make the kid as uncomfortable as possible from afar, giving him no real reason to hate either him or his posse considering the usual settlement for that kind of crime: a black eye, or at the very least some form of public humiliation. Okay, so maybe it was a little over dramatic, but still the damn kid had gotten off easy. He’d managed to register his face, and noticed him in a couple of his classes after the incident in the quadrangle. It was strange; he could have sworn that he’d never seen that boy before in his life, yet the bell of some equivocal memory rang in his head. Something niggling at him in the back of his mind, but which he paid little attention to.

He didn’t know it, but the boy’s name was Castiel Novak. He was sixteen years old, and in his junior year just like Dean. Despite what people might think, he had been attending there (as well as the respective elementary and middle schools) and living in this town his entire life. People just didn’t notice him much. He flawlessly managed to slip under the radar, and probably could have gotten away with murder in plain daylight if he so wished, provided that the victim wasn't someone essentially important to the community. That was probably due to him not wanting to be noticed more than anything. He had a higher than average IQ, and loved to read. He also had Asperger’s Syndrome, but most people didn’t get close enough to him to realise that. They tended to dismiss him as _just a bit strange_ and forget about him before he’d even finished telling them his name. And that was just the way he liked it.

But more than anything, Castiel was sad. He tried not to pity himself too much. He didn’t care about friends or popularity, and tried his best not to worry about the future – it was so far off anyway it didn’t bode well to think about, or at least that’s what he told himself - but that was his problem, he worried about a lot of things unnecessarily. The only thing he found was worse than thinking about the future was thinking about the past. There were things in his dark history that he tried not to dwell on, and yet they always ended up in the forefront of his mind. For example, his mother had died giving birth to him, something his father had never really forgiven him for, nor let him forget about for that matter. Castiel could probably count on one hand the amount of times he and his father had shared any form of eye contact that wasn’t hate filled or uncomfortable before he left when Cas was nine. He now lived alone with his older brother, Gabriel. Castiel's best friend, and sister, had lived with them too before she left to study journalism at university little over a week before his third year of high school started. It sounded melodramatic, but she was the only person he’d ever trusted, and probably would ever trust. He was very careful about that, the people he chose to trust. Even Gabriel didn't have that luxury, and his other siblings definitely didn't. He had four of them, but they'd never gotten particularly close. The twins, Rachel and Inias, had flown the allegorical nest about four years ago and only ever returned from their hectic university lifestyles for special occasions like birthdays and Christmas. Michael was the first born, and the brother Castiel saw the least of. To Michael, work came first, and it didn’t even matter if he was having a heart attack – he would finish his very important meeting with the other CEOs and whatever high profit company he was currently working at before climbing into the ambulance. Luci was his oldest sister, the second oldest overall, and he didn’t trust her to say the least. She always smiled as if she knew something he didn’t, which of course she probably did. In her high school days of just under a decade ago she’d been the go-to for interesting gossip. Even now, on those rare occasions when she turned up from her mysterious New York life that nobody really knew much about, she rocked up a storm of excitement.

The most peculiar thing of all about the Novak’s was that almost every single one of them had a pair of wings sprouting from their back, with the exception of Inias and Rachel and, according to the wider population of the town, Castiel. Well, he was sure that if he didn’t bind his wings he wouldn’t be able to evade prying eyes as easily as he could at the moment. He didn’t even care if it was bad for him – which it was, and painful as well – to constantly restrain his wings day after day purely because it meant people didn’t look at him. Above everything, he hated when people looked at him.

* * *

The gene that caused some people to have wings was widely considered a mutation; however some scientists went as far as to suggest it was a purer, more ancient form of the human spectrum of evolution. It was true that every human had shoulder blades where it seemed that wings had grown from once upon a time, but in the modern era it was rare to see a winged person. And just as was human nature regarding anything remotely different, they were widely discriminated against.

People were afraid of them, no matter how much the experts tried to convince the population that they were harmless and nothing more or less than human themselves. Their wings didn’t even grant them the ability of flight, it had just been some old human form of attracting a mate – the bigger and fancier the wings, the better the partner – but for some reason unbeknownst to anyone but a few specialists who’d spent their lifetime researching, the winged people had slowly started to go extinct.

Very few of the winged people lived in the world, they were thought to be only in their tens of thousands nowadays. Some theorised that the wingless humans themselves had been a mutation, and as they started to grow in numbers, took to murdering them in their sleep many millennia ago. Others suggested that the wings had been an easy target for wolves and other predators that were partial to a bit of human flesh every now and then, and Darwinism had taken its toll. Wings had become unfavourable due to their ability to get you killed. Neither of these methods were taught in schools anywhere in the world. In fact, the subject was ignored completely as if the winged humans had some sort of disease to be swept under the carpet and never spoken of again.

Ignorance breeds fear. And from fear comes shameless discrimination.

Isabella Milton had been one such person, and her beautiful wings had been blacker than the night’s sky, and her eyes bluer than the ocean. She’d had long dark hair that had a tendency to become matted and stick up in all directions if she didn’t brush it in spite of the fact that it nearly reached her waist. She was carefree and excitable, and when she sang every living creature for miles around stopped to listen. 

It was her voice that first lured Jacob Novak to her side one summer, and he fell in love with her before he’d even seen her face. It didn’t matter that she had wings on her back – he always thought they made her seem ethereal. They were engaged within the month, and married by the next. 

But fourteen years later Jacob Novak had seven children all under the age of twelve, and had just lost his wife. It was safe to say he didn’t take to losing her very well, and the previously loving parent became sick with grief and only found comfort through alcohol and neglecting his responsibilities. As much as he hated to admit it, every time he looked upon the black wings and blue eyes of his newly born son it torn him apart – and he was ashamed to say that it took all his will power not to give the child up. Perhaps it was the kid’s fault. That _thing_ had killed his wife, and now expected to be cherished and looked after like each of the children before it. It then had the audacity to try his patience even further with his damn unnatural intelligence and inability to behave like a normal human. He knew the kid couldn’t help it, and part of him knew he was being unreasonable and, quite frankly, a _dick_ but he couldn’t help himself. He needed someone to blame, and Castiel seemed like the logical option.

After nine long years he finally gave up. But each of them knew that he’d abandoned them many years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel shares my views on Tom Buchanan. 
> 
> I forgot to mention, in this fic there might be some spoilers (especially in next few chapters considering what I have planned) for The Great Gatsby, I'll try to keep it to a minimum but if you haven't read it/seen it and you don't want spoilers watch out for that!
> 
> You should definitely read it though it was fabulous.

The popular crowd had finally taken notice of Castiel – not for the first time, but he doubted they remembered that between all their booze and sex and self-importance – but it didn’t fill him with the delight that every normal person would have insisted it should. They’d all say he should feel special, they have an interest in him, and no publicity is bad publicity. He disagreed with that. It made him hate them more, and hate them he did. Their arrogance enraged him and he found himself clenching his fists and biting his knuckles to prevent himself from screaming. It shouldn't bother him, he knew that their existence should mean less than nothing to him. But he spent every day in his corner of the quadrangle – the one he’d resided in ever since freshman year – and listened, unable to tear his gaze away from them, to the verbal abuse they hurled his way.

It was nothing particularly intelligent or even creative, just the standard slurs of _loser, nerd, freak_ and the occasional threat from that big guy who thought he was all that and more just because he was made up of all muscle and no brain. Castiel knew he had no brain because he’d been forced to sit next to him in Chemistry last year, and he quickly realised that the guy wasn’t the smartest when he asked Castiel how to spell lithium. He could have understood, even helped him out (or maybe not) if he was dyslexic or had something else that Castiel could somewhat relate to, but it seemed he was little more than just plain stupid.

He liked to think that stupidity was a disease, a medical condition to be frowned upon so that he could take comfort in the fact that, despite everything else, at least he wasn’t an idiot. Thank God for small mercies.

* * *

By Wednesday, the third day back, he’d already read through all of his assigned text books for each subject, and read _The Great Gatsby_ , his designated English text for the semester, twice. He decided he liked that particular book, and it surprised him when he realised he’d never read it before considering he’d read every single other one of Fitzgerald’s novels. He liked the characters – George was his favourite – in spite of their inherent naivety and the foolishness of their hedonistic lifestyle. He swore that if he ever met Tom Buchanan in real life he’d throw him in a river and laugh while he drowned. The thought of that made him smile and briefly forget that Tom had lived nearly a century ago and was, in fact, fictional. 

He preferred fictional universes by far; in books there was adventures and extravagance, and anything was possible. Nobody could really expect him to be happy with his mundane, repetitive lifestyle after he'd experienced those wonderful worlds. Were he a character in a book, it wouldn't matter that he had wings and Asperger's, he could still be a knight or a King capable of slaying dragons. He could rule the world, prevent the apocalypse, become a God! Nothing was beyond his reach were he a fictional character. Anna had tried to encourage him to write his own novel, but he hadn't known where to start, he could barely form his thoughts into words let alone write them down with all the fluency of Charles Dickens, so instead he stuck to reading them. His favourites were the classics. _Jane Eyre, Hard Times, Pride and Prejudice, The Handmaid's Tale_ and _1984_ topped his lists. Recently, Anna had begun to convince him to read a few more modern novels, she'd eased him into it by offering him _His Dark Materials_ which he found he rather enjoyed. It made him wish he had a daemon beside him, a purer form of his soul who understood him and would love him unconditionally and never betray him. Anna had also loaned _A Game of Thrones_ from the library for him, but the foul language, sex and incest had been too disturbing for him and he'd taken it back after only reading the first half. He was ashamed to admit that he had read _The Notebook_ \- and cried - but if you ever asked him about that he'd just insist that Anna had forced him against his will, when in actual fact he quite enjoyed it. Everyone needed a bit of heart wrenching romance every now and then, and since the chances of that ever happening to him in real life were incredibly low, he instead focused on the love lives and adventures of his favourite fictional characters. After Anna, they were probably the closest thing he had to friends.

“How’s school been?” Gabriel asked over dinner – which was way too sugary considering it consisted of chicken breast, vegetables and mashed potatoes. Dinner was really the only time they saw each other, especially since Anna left. Castiel preferred to stay in his bedroom and read or play classical music from his phone way too loudly and try not to think. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Gabriel, he did, and he appreciated that Gabe had stayed with him when he could just as easily have left like the others. There was nothing here for him in this little town, but he would never abandon Cas. Besides, Gabriel worked as many hours at the butchers as he could muster up which meant he often didn’t come home until eight in the evening, and Cas worked too, every day after school from four until seven. Because nobody knew he had wings, or even made the connection of his relation to Gabriel, his hourly rate was much higher than his brother's. Cas only earnt ten dollars less than Gabe in his three hour shift in the coffee shop and his paper round combined than Gabriel did in a single twelve hour shift at the butchers - which was the highest paid job he'd been able to get his hands on. The injustice of this made him seethe with anger. Gabriel was talented, he could achieve so much more than being stuck in some dead end job - one of the very few he'd managed to hold down for over two months - where he was paid less than minimum wage.

But hey, life wasn’t fair, right?

“Fine, same as always,” he retorted dispassionately. It scared Gabriel sometimes, how his brother could make his tone so cold without even realising it. Sometimes speaking with no emotion, like a robot. He worried about his younger sibling, and found himself lost of ways to help him, it couldn’t be good for the kid to be so disconnected. He needed a social life and security and love. Gabriel knew it still angered the boy sometimes that people didn't like him, found him too awkward and blunt to maintain a conversation with. Over the past few years he'd learnt to cope with it, who needed friends anyway? He liked being alone, but that didn't mean he liked feeling alone.

“Do you want to see Dr Miller again?” Gabe said tentatively. Dr Miller was the therapist Castiel had seen a total of thirteen times since he was six. She was all about talking about feelings and a bunch of other stuff Cas wasn’t very good at, and on his penultimate visit when he was fourteen she’d all but given up and prescribed him with antidepressants and some pill that was supposed to quell his anxiety issues. She’d encouraged him to keep visiting so they could discuss his _self-image problems_ but he’d only seen her once since then, and only after Anna nagged him for two weeks solid. 

“No,” Castiel said, just as indifferently as before, but his wings ruffled with annoyance. That was the thing about wings, they often betrayed you - it was just another form of communicating through body language. If you knew what you were looking for, you could tell from someone's wings exactly what they were feeling. Castiel didn't much like the vulnerability that particular trait brought with it, but Gabriel made him leave them out at home. Unfortunately that meant he had to wear either his specially designed clothes with slits to allow his wings freedom or an overlarge shirt with a large neck cut out that would let them poke out over the top. The former wasn’t particularly comfortable to get in our out of and was a pain more than anything else, but the latter required him to hold his wings higher than he normally would (which got exhausting after a few hours, just like holding your arm vertical for an extended period of time) to prevent chafing against the sensitive stubs of his scapular joint. Still, Cas usually went for that one because the first option really wasn’t worth the trouble it took, unless he was going out in public with the intention of showing off his wings.

He was certain he would rather die than go shirtless like Gabriel often did. Around the house at least. Out in public, Gabriel wore his prim and proper clothes designed to let one’s wings be flaunted with enthusiasm. His wings were a beautiful, luminous shade of gold that started to hurt your eyes if you looked at it for too long when the sun was shining. Cas' were dull in comparison.

Castiel had seen the way people treated Gabriel, and it made him sick to his stomach. They looked at him as if he was made of dirt, and spat insults and threats and other horrible things. Cas had concluded from a very young age that if he wanted to get by safely and unnoticed – which he did – he couldn’t let anybody see his wings, so when he started first grade he bound his wings for the very first time and never looked back. Sort of. He’d been stuck with those same classmates ever since and nobody managed to figure out that he had wings, nobody even realised he was there. 

“Cas, it might help y--”

“No,” Castiel said again, his feathers standing on edge and his wings unfurling to raise themselves higher on his back in a display of unbridled aggression.

Gabriel nodded. “Are you taking your medicine?”

“Yes,” he muttered, pushing the remainder of his asparagus – he really hated asparagus, and why was it so damn sweet? – around his plate. He wasn’t lying. He didn’t exactly want to be a freak, and he hated the way he used to look down at the cars below and think for a second how free it would feel to let go and jump whenever he crossed the bridge over the highway on his way home from school. He didn’t do that anymore, which he guessed was a sign that the antidepressants were working. But he still felt sad a lot. Empty too, like he was a body without a soul.

He guessed the anxiety medicine was working its magic somewhat as well, he didn’t have panic attacks nearly as frequently anymore - they used to happen at the very least once every week, but now they only made an appearance once every couple of months - and this development meant he was able to get a job to help Gabriel with the money worries he was sure they had. Gabriel didn’t talk about it much, but it was an obvious assumption considering the house they shared was the same one from when there had been eight of them – it was pretty big – and Gabe was unable to hold down a job for any extensive period of time due to the vile discrimination he received. He was smart enough to be able to put two and two together, they needed as much money as they could get.

Anna had worked extra hours to help as well when she'd been here, as had every single sibling before her. Their father left them with a little bit of money - he hadn't wanted them to die or anything - when he left, but all of that was gone now. Every time a Novak moved out, money got tighter and life in general became far less exciting.

He called Anna that night. It always made him nervous, talking on the phone. He could text her, and save himself the concern, but he needed to hear her voice. He wrapped his wings around himself and stroked his feathers with his free hand as he held the phone to his ear and listened reluctantly to the sound of its ringing. He always thought it sounded like it was mocking him, ringing in long, arrogant drawls that made him want to tear his feathers out.

“Hey, Cas,” she said ardently, and almost all of his worry melted away. He continued to brush his feathers against his hand, though. It comforted him in a peculiar sort of way. It was like a safety blanket, but one he couldn't reach while his wings were bound. During school he resorted to stretching an arm across his body and gently rubbing at the opposite side of his torso, either that or he played with the belt of his trench coat. He remembered the days - it seemed like decades ago now - when Gabriel would sit beside him and stroke his wings when he had a panic attack, and Anna would sit on the floor in front of him, holding his hands and soothing him in a calm voice, maybe sing occasionally, and then he'd fall asleep on his bed and the two of them would crawl in next to him and protect him from the monsters. It was nice being the youngest sometimes.

“Hello, Anna,” he said, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat. He recognised it was illogical to be uneasy – it was only Anna – but part of him was screaming to _get the hell away_. He did his best to tune it out, but the thought kept urgently chewing away at a far corner of his brain. “How’s university going?”

Anna recounted the events of what she called Fresher’s Week, where all the freshmen at the university joined together for massive parties, sports and activities before classes started the following Monday. It was a way of making friends, or something. It sounded horrible to Cas, he couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying than a bunch of people he’d never met before trying to converse with him and pretending to be his friend under the influence of alcohol for the sake of appearances. Anna seemed to enjoy it, she was a good few hours away and apparently only a few people had been jackasses about her wings. It was rumoured that further north-west people were far friendlier, but here in Kansas they weren't as forgiving of differences. Anna's wings were a dark speckled burgundy, which was an odd colour that wasn’t seen around much, even in the community of the winged people. Most of them were tawny or grey or white, like Luci’s. Black was rarer but not too uncommon. Other colours were pretty much unheard of, though they'd been rife before the winged people came close to extinction. It just so happened that Isabella Milton had a lot of family with exciting coloured wings, and those genes had been passed onto her children.

It turned out that Anna had found two other people with wings – one tawny, one grey, not too shockingly – while she was there. Jack and Stacey seemed nice enough, and Cas figured that if you found someone with wings you had to stick together like a pack. She said people were accepting of the winged people at the university, but Cas found that hard to believe. It sounded to him that Jack was such a big and intimidating guy that nobody would dare insult a winged person with him around.

He sounded a bit like Michael, if Cas was honest. Michael, who had massive wings such a dark shade of blue you'd be forgiven for mistaking them as black, just like Castiel's, except Cas' own were even darker. Michael had never hidden them, they were far too large for it to be convenient, and they'd worked to his advantage. He held them high on his back, a testosterone fueled move daring people to question his authority. He'd climbed the career ladder pretty quickly, and before he knew it he was the cheif CEO at a company that Cas couldn't remember the name of. Honestly, he didn't care enough to give it a second thought.

* * *

“Hey, kid,” a female voice said as she slid into Castiel’s personal space, blocking him from continuing his path towards the bench in the far corner. He’d seen her around before, she hung out with Dean and his fellow assholes. She was pretty, he supposed, with long tresses of wavy dark hair and warm dark eyes. Nothing else about her was warm, though. In fact she was vaguely terrifying. She looked at Cas like a hyena would stare at its prey, ready to pounce and tear him to shreds. Anna had tried to teach him not to judge a book by it's cover, but he was about ninety per cent sure his assumptions were right in this instance. He'd never really understood that phrase anyway.

Ordinarily, he figured, she’d have been quite short, but she was wearing massive heeled boots and held herself as if she was the tallest, most threatening human alive and when compared to Castiel's slouched figure it didn't matter that he was technically taller than her. He thought her name was Meg Something, but he wasn’t quite sure seeing as he’d never actually talked with her before now. He wasn't too excited about their first conversation, either.

He briefly raised his eyebrows at her in some sort of apathetic greeting and went to sidestep around her. She reached out and placed her manicured hand – her fingernails were long and painted black and she'd sharpened them into a point in a way that made them seem like talons – against his chest. He tried to contain his reactant shiver and the increased beating of his heart without much luck, _why was she touching him_. He wanted to scream at her to get the hell off him, but he found his mouth unable to move. 

“Stay and chat,” she purred, staring at him with smouldering eyes that made him feel highly uncomfortable. They were the kind of eyes he’d seen on the naked girls in Gabriel’s magazines (that had been the last time he’d ever entered his older brother’s bedroom), surely meant to seduce unsuspecting men in the same way a Siren would. He’d read about Sirens, they lured men into their traps and sent them to their deaths with their full consent. He didn't really want to die that way, it was undignified at best.

He took a step back, but her touch followed him as if she’d already apprehended the fact that he would try to get away from her. She flashed her pretty smile at him – he thought for a second it would have been quite fitting if she’d had fangs of some sort – and batted her false eyelashes. 

“Aw, Meggie, doesn’t he want to play with you?” Dean called from his place sat on top of his throne, or rather, the picnic table. 

“I don’t think so, Deanie,” she replied with mirrored sarcasm eliciting an ungraceful guffaw from the rest of the crowd. 

Castiel tried to take a step backwards but found himself unable to move, there was someone behind him. He should have figured, he hadn’t seen Wilson with the rest of them. He tried to discretely regulate his breathing, having a meltdown here would just provoke them further. And, like he said, he didn't want to die here today.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?” Kara James said, pushing Meg out of her way and stroking a hand across Castiel’s face. He cringed at the contact. “Must be shy,” she announced to the others, who were slowly closing in on him. Kara James, Meg, AJ, Josh and Wilson were all painfully close to him, but Dean, Jo and Ash hung back a little, watching on from a few feet away. Jo and Ash kept quiet, Castiel knew them, had even spoken to Jo once. She scared him a little but he figured she was nice enough, and certainly not your usual blonde airheaded bitch. Dean wasn’t so quiet, he laughed obnoxiously loudly and threw a few heckles and words of encouragement every now and then. Castiel glanced around; unless he ran now there was no way he’d be able to escape them. He was about to make a run for it, but hesitated when Jake Wilson’s large hand trailed over his shoulder and gripped it far too tightly. _Dammit._

Any lower and Wilson could possibly have felt the curve of the top of his right wing, they were folded close to his back and unable to move with the strength of the binding he used to strap them to his body, but the boy’s grip was dangerously close – way too close for Castiel to be at all comfortable. 

“Don’t be shy, kid,” AJ Sawyer said, getting way too close and looking him up and down like he was a piece of meat. “What’s your name?”

When Castiel didn’t answer someone’s hand collided with his face – he thought it was the Hewitt kid, but he couldn’t be sure because it had happened so quickly. He felt his cheek burn at the strength of the slap; it was only Wilson’s iron grip on his shoulder that prevented him from toppling over with the force of it.

“When someone asks you a question, you answer it, you little brat!” Dean yelled, bursting into laughter the second he'd finished his sentence. He had his arm around Lisa Braeden, who hadn’t been there the last time he looked. Lisa was nice, she had one of those faces that made you certain she was a lovely person who probably helped out at animal shelters and gave money to the poor on weekends. She was ignoring Dean, turning away from him and whispering something to Jo, who shook her head and sighed.

It was obvious that she wasn't as caring as she'd lead you to believe.

“Novak. Castiel Novak,” Cas said, hardly audible, but he matched it with a malicious glare in Dean’s direction. His eyes widened in some sort of comical expression Castiel couldn't understand. He wasn't good at reading facial expressions.

His bubbling anxiety was overtaken by an unequivocal rage that reared up inside him. They were surrounding him, they were _touching_ him, and he didn’t like it. He was scared of them, and he hated them, but he knew he had get himself under control. He couldn’t snap here, he had to hold himself back, he knew beyond doubt that they’d have no trouble beating the crap out of him – and they’d do it without a second thought if he aggravated them. It was only his fourth day back, and he could do without any broken bones this soon in the year.

“Come on, baby,” Meg said, trailing her delicate hands up and down Castiel’s chest, he trembled again. Her hands felt nothing short of invasive. “Excitable, aren’t you?” she whispered, leaning close to his body and placing her lips against his ear to softly kiss it. He tried to suppress a low growl that began to erupt from his throat, he wanted to hurt her, _he wanted her to get off him_. The surrounding pack applauded and laughed, yelling their encouragements. “You’re wilder than you look. I can tell,” she breathed in between the kisses, which she now trailed along his jaw. He shook harder, and Meg giggled, either mistaking it as pleasure or making fun of his uninhibited reaction - he couldn't be sure which. _Don't hit her, don't hit her, don't hit her_ he chanted in his mind, willing himself not to strike, but his hands kept curling themselves into fists at his sides. If she didn't step away now, she'd be in trouble, she'd pushed him too far already and he could feel himself beginning to break. It wouldn't matter if he didn't want to hurt her, he would, and he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

“I bet you’re a damn good fuck, aren’t you? Let’s find out,” she teased, gliding her tongue across his lips and pushing her delicate hands underneath his trench coat, ready to push it off his shoulders. Everyone was staring. They were watching as she humiliated him, and he hated it. He was weak, but her hands on his skin sent something between indisputable rage and unsurpassed anxiety rising within him, and then instinct took over - he hardly even felt his fist collide with Meg’s face. It must have been one hell of a right hook, because it sent her tumbling straight to the floor. 

“You asshole!” she shrieked, and before he knew it he was enclosed within Wilson’s grip while Hewitt and Sawyer started throwing punches against his abdomen, winding him. People crowded round the immediate area, cheering and yelling. Kara James helped Meg to her feet and they both joined the onslaught. It turned out that Kara could throw a pretty mean roundhouse – any harder and it would have dislocated Castiel’s knee – and Meg’s claws were far more violent than he’d previously perceived. She screamed wordlessly and all but leaped on top of him, scratching her talons across his face streaming a series of slurred insults as she went. He felt wetness trickle down his face - dammit, she'd broken the skin. Dean and Jo pulled her and Kara back, and Hewitt and Sawyer followed their lead, taking a few long strides backwards in acceptance of the unspoken command.

Wilson pushed Cas forward, and he only just managed to keep his footing. He was sore and in pain, all he wanted to do was fall on the floor and scream and cry. He wanted to do that a lot, but apparently it wasn't socially acceptable. Most of the time he managed to keep it under control, at least to some level. He thought he was free, maybe he could find a distant corner of the school where nobody would find him to have his mental breakdown in peace. He saw more than felt Wilson's fist extend and connect with his face, his senses had gone numb. His vision was blurry and there was a distinct ringing sound in his ears. Everything was spinning, and suddenly he was on the floor, staring across the concrete with glassy eyes that slowly faded to black.

* * *

Castiel woke up outside the principal’s office, propped up in an awkward position on one of the cushioned chairs, to the annoying sensation of the school nurse prodding at his head and a burning feeling across his face. He was sore all over and he kind of wanted to puke. He opened his eyes and flinched away from her, sending daggers in her direction. She mumbled something he couldn’t understand and moved to sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs across the small foyer. It seemed he'd gotten the better end of the deal regarding the seating. But that was only fair seeing as he'd just gotten the crap beaten out of him.

“Mr Novak, is your legal guardian your brother Gabriel?” the secretary whose name he didn’t know said from behind her little screen. She was an old woman who’d worked at the school for some twenty years, she would have known all of his siblings before him, going back as far as Michael who hadn’t set foot in this building in little over ten years. He nodded once, not liking the throbbing in his head when he moved it. “Huh,” she said, “didn’t realise you were related.” It was often the case that, even when they knew Castiel’s surname, people didn’t associate him with the Novaks. They always recognised Rachel and Inias as part of the clan, despite their lack of wings, and even Anna who’d legally changed her name to Milton – their mother’s maiden name – when she was thirteen. But Castiel managed to slip under the radar. It didn't bother him, he liked that nobody really paid him much thought.

“Hello, Gabriel Novak?” Castiel heard the nameless secretary say into the phone. “Would it be possible for you to come and collect your brother anytime soon?…Yes, I understand it isn’t ideal…We don’t want him walking home by himself as we can be held liable if anything were to happen to him, and I wouldn’t be comfortable sending him home alone in his state anyway…He got into a fight, I'm afraid…The principal would also like to speak with you and Castiel as soon as possible…Thank you, goodbye.”

Castiel sighed. Gabriel wouldn’t be pleased at having to be pulled out of work because of him. He could try to explain that it wasn't his fault, and he knew Gabriel would side with him - but he'd still feel guilty. Cas realised with a start that he was the only one in the foyer and that familiar anger burnt inside him. Of course the others would get off scot free. The Principal was Jake Wilson’s father for crying out loud! It meant that the kid and his friends could beat up whoever they hell they wanted and Principal Wilson would do jack shit about it. Jake could probably burn down the school and not get more than a cuff on the ear. It wasn’t fair! 

Gabriel tuned up twenty minutes later, his golden wings flapping with irritation. Cas' heart sank - yeah, Gabe was pissed, but he was too damn understanding to ever admit it was Castiel he was angry at. Gabriel's face softened the second he laid eyes on Cas, covered in bruises and lacerations. He smiled sadly down at his little brother and pulled him into a hug that remained unreturned. Cas didn’t really like hugs, and he winced at the pressure it caused on his aching muscles.

“Mr Novak, if you’d like to come this way,” Principal Wilson said, poking his head round the door to his office. He was short and wiry with no muscle at all. He was the exact opposite of his son. No wonder he couldn’t control the brat. “Have a seat.”

The principal’s office was pristine and refined: the pale blue walls were covered in certificates of excellency and the occasional family photo. Papers and documents were stacked neatly in pigeon holes on the wall, and most of them looked as if they’d never been touched. On the shelf lay a thick wooden paddle, Castiel tried his best not to roll his eyes, he knew for a fact that Principal Wilson had never used it - he was too afraid of angry parents and law suits that would never come, the only function of the wretched thing was to prove that Wilson was a pussy when it came to dishing out punishments. But everybody already knew that. His black leather office chair looked completely brand new, he sat in it as if afraid he might break it, and two much less comfortable chairs where situated on the other side of his desk. They had an awkward backing which meant Gabriel had to fold his wings close to his back, they couldn’t be seen from the principal’s perspective, and the man let out a breath he probably hadn’t realised he’d been holding. As if now that Gabriel’s wings were out of sight, he could at least pretend that he was a normal human.

“The school nurse tells me,” Principal Wilson said, picking up a file from his desk and scanning over it “that Castiel will have no permanent injuries, the black eye and the nasty bruise on his knee should fade in a few days, the cuts on his face should heal relatively quickly. No sign of concussion or organ damage, he’ll just be very achy for a while.

“The good news is,” he continued in a sarcastic manner that definitely wasn’t appropriate for a school principal to use, “that Castiel can have a few days to recover during his suspension.” Castiel did a double take, he hadn't been expecting that one. Maybe the principal wasn't such a delicate flower after all, or maybe his son had come to this decision for him. The latter was definitely more likely.

“You’re suspending him?” Gabriel said, his voice becoming louder than he would have liked. His wings ruffled in anger and began to unfurl and flap slightly. Principal Wilson’s eyes widened and zoned in on the birdlike feature, watching them with cautious eyes as if he was ready to pounce and rip them straight off of Gabriel’s back. 

“Mr Novak, I’m sure you understand that this isn’t Castiel’s first infraction, and we simply can’t tolerate it anymore.”

Castiel stopped himself from heaving a dramatic sigh. He’d only ever gotten in trouble a handful of times before this, and in his two trips to the principal’s office, it had always, apparently, been his fault according to the head master. In those situations, Castiel had always been provoked, and usually people had been understanding of that, but Principal Wilson wasn’t as open minded, especially when his loyalty was to Castiel’s attackers. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Gabriel spat, he thanked God that this bigot hadn’t been principal when he’d attended here, he'd take Evil Bitch Principal Shore over Wilson any day (even if she had been an unfriendly old hag who, unlike Wilson, had wielded that paddle at any opportunity. Gabriel always remembered thinking she _liked_ to hit kids with it. It made him shuffle in his seat just to think about it). “He can’t help it. You should be suspending the dick that did this to him.”

The principal flinched at the use of harsh language and plastered a fake smile on his face, not quite willing to admit that the dick Gabriel was referring to was his own flesh and blood. He had a point, though, Jake Wilson was a dick.

“The common denominator in all of these outbursts have been Castiel, and that is something we can’t ignore.” _Lie_ Castiel thought. There’d been way more violent outbursts over the years, and the principal’s precious common denominator in every single one of them was his son. He just refused to admit it.

Castiel folded his right arm across his body and began carefully stroking at his left side. Were his wings free at this moment, he’d have wrapped them around his body and carded his fingers through the softness his feathers, but he couldn’t. He was in public, and it wasn’t like he could just get them out whenever he wanted. Besides, it would only serve to increase his insecurity and probably lead to a very public panic attack, which wouldn’t exactly help the situation.

Gabriel was speechless, boiling with anger at how shamelessly dogmatic Principal Wilson was being. It was obvious he didn’t know jack about half the things he should have as a principal. Gabriel made a mental note to send a letter of complaint to his superintendent, knowing full well he’d probably never get round to it, and even if it did he would probably going to be ignored due to the fact he had wings (something that needed to be declared on any form of formal document. That also made him angry.

“We are aware that Castiel’s condition makes it difficult for him to--”

“Condition,” Gabriel scoffed, “He’s not diseased!”

“Mr Novak, please--”

“Look, _sir_ , he has Asperger’s, and it’s blindingly obvious that you don’t know the first thing about what that means. He can't control his anger, so anything he does is not his fault,” Gabriel said in a low and threatening voice that, if Cas was honest, scared him a bit. 

“The point still stands--”

“I’ve been looking after him for seven years. I think I know a little bit more than you do. And I happen to know that you're nothing more than a spineless little bitch.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr Novak. I don’t expect to see Castiel on this premises until Wednesday.”

* * *

On the way home – they had to walk, they’d sold their mother’s old car in order to pay for Anna’s university tuition – Castiel couldn’t help but think about how much Gabriel had given up for him. Seven years. Gabriel had been no older than eighteen when he'd started looking after Castiel and his other siblings. He wanted to thank him, and apologise for being so ungrateful and having him pulled out of work to deal with this crap, but it was one of the many things that he couldn’t put into words. Gabriel had been in his senior year when their dad left, Michael and Luci had been away at university – in fact, Michael had just finished his degree – so Gabriel, as the oldest child left, had taken on the responsibilities of a legal guardian. He’d had aspirations and dreams, but he’d given them all up to look after his younger siblings. Cas wondered briefly what Gabriel would do after he’d gone to university himself – if he did go, Anna’s recount of Fresher’s Week was a little off-putting, and it wasn’t like they had a vast amount of money, but he wanted some form of higher education. Would Gabriel get an education himself, or stay in this town full of bigots in a big house he couldn’t really afford?

“Gabe…” Castiel began, not sure where to go from there. He fidgeted a bit as they wandered down the empty sidewalk – school wasn’t out yet, and most people were still in work. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, and he wished for a moment he could just make Gabriel understand how he felt, how much he really appreciated him so he wouldn’t have to use the words he couldn’t form. 

“I know, Cas,” Gabe said, easily swinging his around Cas’ shoulder and planting a kiss on his mess hair – Cas couldn’t help the cringe that followed, and instantly felt bad. Gabe didn’t seem to mind, though, so neither did he. It seemed that Gabriel understood him much better than he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday was boring to say the least. Castiel woke up at the normal time of six o'clock sharp and got dressed for his paper round. He liked doing his paper round, the brisk morning air forced the sleepiness out of his eyes. And he'd even get the occasional 'thank you' from someone. He usually just chucked the papers in the general direction of the porch, so there was very rarely anyone there to see him. There was an old folks' home three blocks away from his house, and the residents there were all lovely, and always greeted him with a smile when he handed them their morning paper. Sometimes they would give him a pack of boiled sweets. He liked that feeling of being appreciated for something. 

He was about half way through it when he remembered with a start that he was suspended from school. Part of him insisted that that was a good thing, he didn’t need people seeing his bruises and cuts and after yesterday’s ordeal - old Mrs Robinson had given him a dollar for his troubles when she'd seen the marks that covered him while she was waiting in her doorway for him to arrive - and he was pretty sure they’d be staring at him anyway due to the attention Dean's Dickheads had given him. By Wednesday, they’d probably have completely forgotten who he was again. In fact, by the time anyone got to school today some new and far more interesting gossip would have reached their attentive ears and he could return to his corner of the quadrangle, completely undisturbed, with the company of his books.

By eleven in the morning he’d finished reading _The Hobbit_ for the third time, having started it again the previous night, so he began reading _The Great Gatsby_ once more and analysing it in detail, writing in pencil all over the pages and transferring those notes into a colour coordinated binder. By the time Gabriel got home that evening he’d finished his four until seven shift at the coffee shop and completed all the homework he’d been given so far as well as the next few study exercises in his science and calculus text books. He had nothing to do for the remainder of his suspension. He supposed he could just read, but he’d read every single book on every single shelf in his house, and he felt like reading something new instead. Reading something new was more more exciting than returning to an old favourite, because there was no telling where the plot would go. He didn't already know that a certain character dies, this one betrays his family and another volunteers her life away so her little sister didn't have to partake in a series of vicious battles to the death formed by the oppressive capital city. 

The bottom line was, he needed a new adventure. 

So, on Saturday morning he went to the library – not having his paper round to worry about since it was the weekend - and took the first _Harry Potter_ book of the shelf of the children’s section. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Anna had suggested he read them, despite having never read them herself. Castiel vaguely remembered her coming home from a trip to the cinema one day in tears because ‘her childhood was over’ and she spent the next sixth months saying things like _oh my Rowling_ and complaining about how she’d never gotten her Hogwarts letter. He didn't bother pointing out the lack of logic in those statements.

He found a corner of the library and curled up in one of the comfy armchairs that were placed next to little coffee tables while reading, and he realised he quite liked it. Adolescent British wizards; who’d have thought it would be such a hit? He was just beginning to think about how awesome it would be to be a wizard when he felt someone standing over him, their unwanted presence causing an irritating tingle on the side of his torso. 

He glanced up. It was a girl. Cas was slightly taken aback when he realised she wasn't a figment of his imagination. People didn’t generally take any notice of him, especially when every single part of his body language was a clear instruction to stay away. She looked harmless though, with long auburn waves that glinted fluorescent shades of orange whenever she moved and pale golden eyes. She was tall considering that her face suggested she was no older than twelve, and she was entirely unable to keep still, which put him on edge a bit. He tended tot he itch on his torso, scratching it violently through the fabric of his layers.

“You’re reading Harry Potter,” she commented, smiling warmly. “One of my favourites, you read it before?”

Castiel shook his head, keeping his mouth firmly sealed shut.

“Seen the movies?”

He shook his head again, not liking this interrogation.

“You’ll love it," she said. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she said, with confusion, "Aren’t you warm with that coat on? It’s boiling in here.”

“I’m sensitive to the cold,” he said flatly. She nodded, understanding the statement for the blatant lie it was. 

“So, who’s your favourite character so far?”

Castiel looked up at her, it was obvious that she understood that he was done with this conversation, but she still wanted to persist for some reason. 

“Fluffy,” he said, somewhat rudely, staring at her with cold eyes. It was true though, he wanted a three headed dog for himself. Maybe if he had one then people wouldn't invade his privacy with unwanted conversations.

“The dog? That thing’s a bitch,” she laughed.

“I didn’t believe it was female.”

She gave him a funny look. “So, err, who’s your least favourite? Mine’s Draco, he’s such a prat.”

“Filch, probably,” he said. Although the squib wasn’t an antagonist, Castiel could tell he’d turn out to be a bit of a nuisance over the next six books and evolve into a character people loved to hate.

“I don’t like him either, vasen filth,” she spat. Castiel ground his teeth together – she’d clearly misinterpreted his reason for disliking him. Filch may have been a squib, and a highly unlikeable character to boot, but he was also one of the only characters Castiel had come across so far with wings. Naturally this led him open to a _shitstorm_ (as Gabriel would say) of meaningless discrimination and hatred. That was evident in the nature of the girl's passing comment. Just like the worst thing you could call a muggle born wizard was mudblood, one of the most derogatory terms you could aim at a winged person was _vasen_. He’d done his research on that one, it was derived from væsen which was Danish for creature - as if winged people were nothing but that. There were other terms too, you could call someone a fug or a fuggie, or even a hegodun. 

Neither of those were particularly insulting though. But say vasen in the presence of a winged person, and nine times out of ten you’d have a fight on your hands. And a bloody one at that. 

Castiel’s wings squirmed at the use of the word, begging to be released from the gauze that held them close to his body. He couldn’t exactly start clawing her face off, he figured the librarian wouldn’t like that too much. She was just another one of those children raised by bigots; she didn’t know any better. he refrained from shaking his head at the ignorance. He did, however, slip his hand under the hem of his shirt and drag his nails roughly across his hipbone, satisfied when the anger began to flow out of him.

“I dislike him because of his bitterness, it has nothing to do with the fact that he is winged,” Castiel practically growled. “My sister happens to have wings, so if you wouldn’t mind.”

The girls eyes widened and her mouth unceremoniously dropped open. “Oh God, I-I didn’t--” she stumbled, before whispering “Do you have them?” with an ineffable look of disgust on her face.

“No,” he said emphatically, poising his nails to begin scratching again.

“Oh, I just thought since--”

“No,” he said more sternly. The girl swallowed a nervous lump in her throat and mumbled an awkward goodbye before heading off to two of her friends sitting well out of ear shot about ten metres away. One was a girl, with curly blonde hair, and the other a boy with a messy chestnut mop. They looked nice, you probably wouldn’t have labelled them as racists.

Castiel glanced at the big clock on the wall, it was nearly half past eleven which meant he’d have to leave now anyway in order to get to his six hour shift at the coffee shop on time. He liked working there, all he had to do was clean tables and occasionally make a few drinks while Liam and Tay took the orders and did the brunt of the talking to customers. He memorised his page number and placed _The Philosopher's Stone_ back on the shelf where it belonged. He'd pick up that, and the other six books in the series from the discount bookshop on his way home from work. 

The only thing he didn’t like about working at Coffee House was that he had to take his trench coat off, and that meant he was more at risk to people seeing his wings underneath his layers. He wore baggy shirts and large woollen jumps – no matter the weather – to hide the contours of his wings from showing through his clothes. But, despite all the effort he went through, he could never quite quell the anxiety that rose in him when people stared at him for too long when he didn't have the protection of his coat.

“Hi, Castiel,” Tay said, smiling at him upon his arrival. He liked Tay, he supposed she was sort of his friend. She was one of the few people who understood Castiel. He didn’t really trust her, but then again he didn’t trust anybody. But she understood that he didn’t always want to talk, and she never tried to keep up mindless chatter, which was something he appreciated. Most people, like the girl in the library, would try to force a conversation out of him. Tay's younger brother was autistic, and far less functional than Cas himself, but it meant that she got it - what he didn't appreciate, however, was when she shot him that disdainful look whenever she caught him scratching, she'd then go on to lecture him about finding a less violent form of self-stimulation. Most of the time he didn't grace her with a response. She wouldn't push him, and she was sensitive in a way that wasn't patronising (aside from her clearly superior knowledge of stereotypy). He wouldn't enjoy spending time with her outside of work, though, and on the rare occasions that they saw each other in the street she completely ignored him.

“Liam’s called in sick so it’s just us today,” she said. “Boss says not to bother cleaning the tables as much, and focus on taking orders instead.” Cas’s heart sunk a bit, and he rubbed his side. She raised her eyebrows but said nothing, recognising his familiar habit of self-caressing, and pleased that at least this time it wasn't likely to leave any marks. He briefly wondered how she'd have responded to his reaction at the library - he was certain she would disapprove of the raised lines across the left side of his waist. “I’ll try to handle most of the orders, you can just help me make them if you want.”

Like he said, she got it. All making the orders entailed was reading things off the computer screen, and following a set of simple instructions. All it really required that he be semi-literate, which he was. He’d done it before, and he was pretty good at it. 

It went pretty smoothly for the first few hours. Tay took the orders, he made them. Simple. They had a system figured out. But occasionally he had to nip off to clean up any tables that customers had carelessly left cups and plates on – usually they cleaned up after themselves – but he didn’t bother wiping them down or sweeping the floor as he normally would unless it was absolutely necessary. However, Tay worked a different shift pattern to Castiel; while he worked twelve until six, she worked ten until four. And, as was his luck, Raj – the four until closing shift – was late. 

And four PM on a Saturday was around about their busiest time, and with Liam not here – who worked almost exactly the same hours as Castiel – it would just be Raj and Cas battling irritated shoppers from the mall across the street. That was, if Raj ever showed up. He hated talking to customers, and he’d have to do that and sort out the orders as well if Raj didn't make it here soon. He was usually punctual, which had saved Castiel from ever having to have faced this kind of problem before.

The little bell above the door jingled, and Cas pivoted to check who it was. Obviously, it wasn’t Raj. Why would it have been? Raj would have come in through the staff entrance round the back. Nope, it was Dean Winchester. Lovely. With him, he had Meg, Jo and Ash. Dean swaggered up to the counter with hands in his pockets and gave Castiel a repugnant grin. Meg smirked. _Don’t freak out, you can’t lose your job because of them,_ he thought to himself, preparing to power through the battle that would inevitably unravel.

Cas tapped away on the computer screen in front of him – he was a little out of practice, but he managed – as they recited their orders to him. Their unnecessarily complicated orders, he might add. He was positive that the only reason Meg asked for vanilla sprinkles on her Caramel Macchiato was because she noticed they were running low. Then she wanted it an a specific type of mug - _the one with the twirly handle_ \- and he spent ages looking for it, by which time a queue had begun to form. He sighed inwardly. Dean wanted the cream on top of his espresso squirted on in little spurts, rather than the single swirl they’d usually serve. Jo and Ash butted in before Dean and Meg could order something for them, and they asked for a basic cafe latte and a strawberry frappuccino. Then came the food. Meg wanted no more and no less than nine chips in her chocolate chip cookie, and announced that they would leave the building if the flakes on Jo’s raspberry and coconut loaf weren’t evenly spread out. Dean wasn’t too fussy, for once, about his pie as long as he got it, but made a show about exactly how long Ash’s panini should be warmed up for.

Dean sent the rest of them off to find a table while Cas compiled their order together, trying to do ten things at once to match their needs. His hands kept shaking, he could feel Dean’s eyes on him, and he felt on the verge of a panic attack. He took three deep breath and placed the several plates and cups down on a tray by the waiting stand, avoiding any sort of eye contact with the taller boy.

“That’s twenty three dollars fifty,” Castiel croaked, embarrassed by the nervousness that was painfully obvious in his voice. He tried to disguise it with a cough. He expected some snotty remark from Dean, but he just nodded in Cas’ general direction and said “Thanks, man,” and carried it over to his table. He even left a tip. Five dollars. A big tip, just over twenty per cent. 

He hadn’t seen that one coming.

* * *

Dean was in trouble, big trouble. His dad wouldn’t be impressed with him missing curfew. He glanced at his watch, it hadn’t been long, right? Less than an hour, he thought. _Holy crap_ , he almost screamed. It was close to two in the morning, and his curfew was half past eleven. He was so beyond screwed. His dad didn't normally have much of a problem with him going out, but he was very strict about following orders, and one of his most important rules was to always be home by curfew. It didn't matter whatever excuse he could come up with; that he'd gotten distracted, the party had been too awesome to leave so early, he'd hooked up with several chicks at once - careful to avoid mentioning the boys - or he'd been kidnapped by a psychopath and had only just managed to escape. Right, best keep it believable.

To make matters worse, Dean was drunk. That was another Winchester favourite, there was no problem in drinking but take it too far and your ass was grass. He’d be lucky to see another day. Of course, that rule did only apply to him and Sam. John didn't get drunk himself often, but when he did there was always hell to pay.

Hopefully, he thought as he pushed open the front door to the house he shared with his father and younger brother, Dad will be asleep. He realised pretty quickly that that would not be the case. John was sat on the sofa staring at him with harsh, cold eyes. Yeah, he was so dead.

“Hi, Dad,” he said, trying to play it cool and hide the guilt in his voice. Maybe if he pretended to be innocent and say he’d just lost track of time, or blame it on someone else, his dad would let him off. Oh yeah, he'd already come to the conclusion that that would be useless. John always saw the lie in Dean’s eyes, and trying to place the blame onto someone else would only make his punishment harsher. John really hated liars. Even more than he hated curfew breakers and underage drinkers.

“Care to tell me where you’ve been?” John said. He sounded calm, but Dean knew that was bad. He was still noticeably boiling over with anger, but he was keeping his voice quiet and collected. For Sam’s sake. If he yelled or caused a ruckus, Sam would overhear and, well, there were certain things twelve year olds didn’t need to see. That was something they both agreed on a long time ago.

“I wassat a party,” Dean said, his voice trembling and his worlds slurring a little, “I told you about it, remember?”

“Hm,” John said, raising his chin to give Dean a harsh look, “Stand up straight, son, show a little respect.”

“Yessir,” Dean said robotically, the two words merging together - whether that was due to nerves or his intoxicated state, he couldn't tell. He straightened his spine, he thought he’d already been standing to attention, but evidently not. He clasped his hands behind his back and wrung them out in each other, clicking his knuckles every now and then in an attempt to calm himself.

“Did you drink?”

“A little,” he mumbled, adding on a fleeting ‘sir’ at the end when he realised he hadn’t said it.

“How much?”

“Three cans of beer, sir.” Dean could tell by the twitch in John's eye that he knew he was lying. Dean was a damn good liar as well, able to get himself out of almost any situation. Not with John though. John was like a rock hard statue that couldn't be moved and would fall on top of you, crushing your bones and vital organs in the process, if you tried to tell it something that it knew wasn't true.

“No whiskey?”

“No, sir.”

“No vodka?”

“No, sir.” His voice trembled a little despite his efforts at keeping it steady.

“Just beer?” John raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, sir.”

“How come you can’t stand up straight then? And, if you’re not drunk, what’s with the slurring? Doing it for fun?”

“N-no, sir.” Dammit, he was caught. For sure this time.

John was on his feet in an instant, the back of his hand connecting viciously with Dean's face. The boy lost his balance and collided with the wall. John was in his face before he could comprehend what had happened, his iron fist grabbing Dean's arm and brutally pinning him against the wall, slamming him back into it so hard that the photo frames quivered. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and let out an embarrassing little whimper. He'd deny it later. Dean Winchester didn't whimper like a coward.

“Don’t lie to me,” John threatened. “I’ll ask you again, how much did you drink? And open your eyes, dammit!” He hauled Dean forward only to spin him around, twisting his arm up against his back, and shove him back against the wall with so much power that Dean could feel the vibrations in his bones.

“I can’t remember, sir, please--” Dean begged, beginning to sober up now that the adrenalin was pumping through his bloodstream. He hated how his dad could always reduce him to something so small and weak with just a few words. He was sixteen, nearly an adult, but his father had the amazing talent to make him feel like nothing more than a naughty little boy.

He was cut off by a painful yank on his restrained arm, so fierce that he thought for a second that his father had snapped it. He groaned and bit down on his lip.

“A-about five, maybe six beers. And a b-bottle of whiskey I think. A shot of tequila, too. Please, sir.”

John gave him a sweeping glance, his face filled with disgust. Dean didn't have to see it to know it was there, it was always there whenever he fucked up like this.

“I’ll deal with you in the morning. Get out of my sight.”

Dean wasted no time in darting up to his bedroom the second the pressure against his back disappeared, and carefully shutting the door behind him. He didn’t want to piss of his dad any more than he already had, and slamming it like a bratty child would probably result in a good couple of bruises. He had a feeling he’d find it very difficult to walk for a few days after tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally just google translated some things to come up with the insults towards the beginning.  
> Like it says væsen means creature, I got fug (and fuggie) from the Danish word fugl which means bird. Hegodun is Basque for winged. 
> 
> I know it's not particularly creative, but still :)
> 
> Also, I got a few questions about the Harry Potter/Filch thing. Since this is an AU where people have wings, I thought it was appropriate for the occasional book character to have wings too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse how bad I am at French, I tried to do it by myself but Google Translate wanted to help me and I didn't really want to deny it that opportunity.

Castiel returned to school on Wednesday having finished the first five _Harry Potter_ books during his suspension. So far, his favourite was _The Goblet of Fire_ and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd cried a little bit - as well as screamed and thrown the book halfway across the room, scaring the shit out of Gabriel - when Sirius Black had died in the following book. Somewhere between the reading and screaming he'd decided to take up extra shifts at the coffee shop, he figured he might as well make himself useful instead of staying at home and doing nothing for three days. No matter how tempting that sounded.

Just as he had predicted, nobody at school sent him a second glance and new, more exciting gossip travelled the halls of Lakeside High School. Apparently Kara James had gotten really drunk at a party on Saturday night and cheated on Josh Hewitt with the captain of the football team from the high school a town over, and that was still the talk of the town. He didn’t really care much for gossip, but he found himself listening in and making mental notes. If asked, he would say he was just taking precautions – making sure everybody had gone back to ignoring him. Honestly, he found it more interesting than he should. Real people, real scandals. What could be better?

“Castiel, je voudrais parler avec vous.” _Castiel, I would like to talk with you,_ Monsieur Cousteau said just as Cas was about to file out of his French classroom and head to lunch. None of the other teachers had given him any notice or talked to him about his being suspended, just handed him sheets of work to catch up on – nothing he didn’t already know – and went about the rest of the lesson pretending he didn’t exist. He was used to that; teachers never called on him in class, or demanded anything of him. He was pretty sure they knew who he was, that was kind of their job, but they succeeded in accidentally overlooking him at every opportunity. They probably didn’t even realise they were doing it; he just had one of those forgettable faces and personalities.

He liked Monsieur Cousteau, he’d had too much Botox and his face was plastered with a permanent fake smile that was more than a little bit unnerving, but he was honest and kind. He was perhaps the only teacher who was fully aware of Castiel’s presence in his lessons, but he didn't take advantage and let him sit in his far corner of the room making notes undisturbed. Castiel was grateful for that. It seemed that that was about to change, he thought this was the first time that he and Monsieur Cousteau had shared more than a "tres bien" and a "merci" during his lessons.

Castiel wordlessly made his way to stand in front of Monsieur Cousteau’s desk in the corner of the classroom. 

“J'ai entendu que vous étiez suspend.” _I heard you were suspended._ Castiel just nodded meekly, it wasn’t a question so it didn’t warrant anything else as an answer. He had always been very particular about that, and it had always infuriated his brother Inias and made him shout _Why can't you just answer a question like a normal person?_ Inias wasn't well known for his patience.

“Puis-je vous demander pourquoi?” _May I ask why?_ he said in a soft non-accusatory voice. He sounded nothing more than simply curious. Castiel was certain that it had been purposefully calculated to sound as such, either that or he had completely misread the tone, which wouldn't be too out of the ordinary.

“J'ai été attaqué et soutenu de nombreuses blessures, mais évidemment c'était ma faute.” _I was attacked and sustained many injuries, but evidently it was my fault,_ Castiel said sarcastically. Monsieur Cousteau smiled sadly at him, the teacher always had a soft spot for the boy ever since he first met him in freshman year. Castiel already had a pretty extensive knowledge of the French language by that point, and by about halfway through sophomore year he was practically fluent. He suspected that had something to do with Monsieur Cousteau's fondness of him.

“Vous devez être en colère.” _You must be angry,_ the teacher said sympathetically. Castiel just shrugged. Once the initial rage had subsided, he had found himself simply unable to care anymore. “C’est injust.” _It’s unfair._

“Je sais que,” Castiel said, “mais c’est la vie.” _I know, but that’s life._ He’d accepted that fact long ago when he’d first seen people throw things at his brothers and sisters in the street purely because of the wings on their back. It was a lesson he’d learnt far too young, and one many people his age still couldn’t quite wrap their heads around. “Puis-je aller?” Castiel asked, not wanting to stay here much longer. As much as he liked Monsieur Cousteau, he was very touchy-feely in a way that reminded him of Dr Miller. There was nothing he hated more than people asking him how he felt, as if it even mattered. In two hundred years’ time would it really bother anyone that on one Thursday in early September, the fourth day back of his junior year, Castiel Novak had felt an injustice had been served to him? For some reason that didn't seem likely.

“Oui, au revoir,” said Monsieur Cousteau said, dismissing him from the classroom. Castiel nodded his goodbyes and left quickly.

* * *

His lunch break was dull; the same repetitive motions as normal. Eat, drink, read, repeat. He sent a few sideways glances at the centre picnic table. Dean’s Army of Assholes were picking on a freshman and howling with laughter. They’d moved on from him, then. _Good,_ he thought. Everything was back to normal again. Hopefully it would stay that way.

After lunch he had English. The only homework they’d had for that so far was to read _The Great Gatsby_ and make a few notes, which Castiel had done impeccably - something that had gone completely unnoticed by Mrs Harrow. She was a passionate woman who flitted about the classroom like a bird, and spoke in an unnaturally high voice. Unfortunately she had a very short attention span.

“I want all of you to pair up and create an artistic presentation of themes in _Gatsby_ ,” she said, flapping her arms like a penguin trying to fly. She was one of those teachers that arranges the student’s desks in a weird format and makes everyone write on coloured paper because she thought it helped them learn better. So it was to be expected that she’d choose something artistic for them to do. Castiel would much rather just write a ten page essay, if he was honest. That would have been far easier.

“Now, now!” she chirped picking up an upturned top hat filled to the brim with folded pieces of paper, “We’re going to mix it up a bit! I’ll call out two names and that’s who your partner will be. The project is due next week, plenty of time!”

There was a mutual groan from everyone in the glass, Castiel included. If he was being forced to be artistic with another person, he'd much rather choose them himself. He hoped he’d get stuck with someone decent. He glanced around the room. There wasn’t exactly a lot to choose from, but he could always dream. 

She read out pairs of names in quick succession, dropping the hat a few times and cussing to herself. She wasn't the most graceful woman. He sucked in a sharp breath when she called out his name. Who would he be paired with? If it had to be anybody, he it was that blond boy at the front of the class whose name he didn’t know. The boy had a very closely knit group of friends, but was quiet and introverted outside of them. None of the boy's friends were in this class – he knew because he’d seen him around sometimes – and Castiel thought he was probably one of the nicer people he could get stuck with.

“Dean Winchester,” Mrs Harrow said. _What!?_ Castiel blanched for a second, indecent profanities racing around his mind.. This couldn’t be happening. He hadn’t even thought that Dean was in this class. He turned around and sure enough, close to the back, was Dean Winchester sending him a mocking grin paired with an equally sarcastic wink.

It was just his luck.

It sounded like something out of one of those bad sitcoms. Sod’s Law, he’d heard Gabriel call it. You don’t want something to happen, and so it does. As if just to spite you. As was the universe.

Mrs Harrow read out a few more pairs, but Castiel was stuck in his state of shock. He couldn’t work with Dean Winchester. He couldn't stand the boy. He'd honestly rather stick pins in his eyes, or perhaps in Dean's. He forced himself to refrain from bashing his head against his desk when Dean shuffled over to sit opposite him. All pomp and circumstance.

He glowered.

He’d never taken much time to really think about Dean before, not as a person, at least, rather than another faceless entity sent down from the high heavens to make his life as difficult as possible. It was usually just generic thoughts about how he’d love to see him taken down a peg or two and have all that arrogance beaten out of him. Or his head on a stick, but he tried to suppress that particular image because he'd once told a similar thing to Dr Miller a few years back and she freaked out and spent twenty minutes going on about how that was inappropriate behaviour and humans should try to repress their homicidal tendancies. Aside from the sheer hatred he felt towards him, Castiel had never even had a good look at Dean before. For example, he’d never noticed that he had green eyes. They were quite nice-looking, considering they belonged to an asshole. Maybe it would be rude to rip them out of his skull and keep them in his freezer as a trophy.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Castiel,” he said, smirking, as dropped his text books on the desk. “We meet again, at last.” He said it with an enthusiastic conviction and widened his eyes comically. 

Cas just stared and cocked his head to the side, confused and a little bit irritated.

“Alright, alright. So you’ve never seen Star Wars. Dude, you’re missing out.”

 _What?_ For once in his life, the ever turning wheels and cogs within his mind had ground to a complete halt. Dean twiddled the amulet he wore around his neck between his fingers and sighed. Maybe Dean didn’t even remember? No, that couldn’t be. Dean might have been a jerk but his memory lasted longer than three seconds. Castiel wasn’t that unrecognisable. It had only happened two years ago. Dean pranked a lot of kids, but Castiel was sure he should remember the day he'd single handedly caused one of the worse emotional meltdowns of Castiel's young life.

“Okay, then. English!” Dean said awkwardly, avoiding Castiel’s eyes. Cas held back a grin, people often felt awkward around him. He knew it was beyond his control and he’d always found it a little inconvenient more than anything. But now he just wanted to watch Dean flounder for a bit. Call him sadistic, he'd probably admit to it.

“Tell me, have you actually read the book?” Castiel said venomously. He did that a lot too, spoke with abhorrent rudeness, most of the time without meaning to. This wasn’t one of those times.

“Er, yeah,” Dean said. “It was alright.”

Castiel didn’t believe him for a second. “Who’s your favourite character?” Castiel asked, employing the same basic question the girl in the library had asked him. He hoped it made Dean feel as uncomfortable as it had made him.

Dean thought for a second. “Tom. He’s such a douche but--”

“I guess you can relate,” Castiel sneered. Normally that was the kind of thing he’d tried to internalise, because it was rude to call somebody out on their flaws in public. Apparently it was a sensitive topic. Today, he wasn’t holding back. He hated Dean Winchester, and he wanted him to know it. With no Wilson around to do his dirty work, it would be easier to push Dean off of his metaphorical high horse.

Dean was staring at him with wide, shocked eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe the words that had just left Castiel’s mouth. “W-what?”

Castiel responded by staring straight at him with cold eyes completely devoid of any emotion. It didn’t take long for Dean to become uncomfortable and drop his gaze to the book he now held in his hands. “So, themes,” he said, “where do you want to start? I was thinking we could jot down a few ideas and focus on the artistic part later.”

Dean flipped open his notebook and wrote _THEMES_ in block capitals and drew a small round bullet point beneath it.

“Sure,” Castiel said flatly, gesturing to the notebook with a noxious smile , “why don’t you start?”

Dean’s mouth set in a hard line. He looked offended by Castiel’s obvious insinuation that he didn’t know jack shit about the novel. He clicked the top of his pen and began scribbling down – he had a far nicer penmanship than Cas would have assumed – single words and phrases, spacing them out at equal intervals down the page to allow them to be expanded on.

Castiel had to read upside down, but he could clearly read the words _American dream, lost generation_ and _advertising_ on the sheet. Dean glanced up and raised his eyebrows at Cas, challenging him.

He was speechless; he had expected Dean to struggle a little longer. It was not only obvious that Dean had read the novel, but also that he’d put some serious thought into it as well. It was a shocking turn of events for Castiel.

“Is there a problem?” Dean said sarcastically. He placed his pen down and stared tenaciously at Castiel, when he spoke again he sounded far more riled. “Do you have some sort of issue with me?”

Castiel scowled, of course he had issues with Dean Winchester. He had several problems, ones far more deep rooted than the beating he’d received last week. What, did he think himself so entitled to adoration that he felt it was a disservice that Castiel disliked him? After what’d he’d done to him? Was it so completely foreign to him to have people hate him. He didn't deserve any of the adoration he received.

“Look, man,” Dean said, running a hand through his hair, “I just wanna graduate next year, so can we just… I don’t know, try and get along? I mean, we’ll have a pretty crappy project if we can’t even talk to each other.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes further, speculating. “A truce?” he asked. He could try, but he wasn’t sure how successful he’d be. He found it kind of difficult to get along with people any ways, not accounting for the fact that he would gladly rip Dean’s throat out if it wasn’t something that was generally considered rude. 

“Yeah, just for the project. You can go back to hating my guts or whatever straight after.”

Castiel nodded curtly, he could put aside his feelings of hatred for a week. They discussed a few ideas, and Castiel realised that Dean was far more intelligent and insightful than he could have possibly perceived. He didn’t share anything that Castiel hadn’t already thought of himself, but he didn’t say so. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he was impressed.

Castiel found his gaze being drawn to Dean’s left sleeve, where his plaid shirt had ridden up his forearm when something caught his eye. He glanced at it and saw a mottled green bruise, with specks of purple. 

“That looks painful,” Castiel said without thinking, cutting off whatever Dean was saying about the green light motif. 

Dean grabbed his sleeve and yanked it back down over his arm. “It’s nothing,” he said, choking on his words and trying helplessly to disguise it with a cough.

“It looks sprained, you should probably get that checked out.” He remembered when Rachel had sprained her wrist back when she'd still lived with him and Gabe. It’d looked pretty similar, grossly swollen and painted with a large pale bruise. 

“It’s nothing,” Dean said again, firmer this time, avoiding Castiel’s intense eyes. 

The bell rang, and Cas and Dean started gathering their stuff together. “So, er, you got a phone? We should probably sort something out for the weekend – t-to get this project done,” Dean stumbled. Cas nodded without saying anything and Dean scrawled his phone number down on a piece of paper he’d torn out of his note book and handed it to Castiel. "Text me or whatever, so I know you got it. Laters," he mumbled, quickly turning away from Castiel and practically running out of the room.

* * *

During Chemistry, Dean was on Castiel’s mind. He didn’t really like it – the Winchester boy had no place there. Something was strange about him though, he acted as if he wanted Castiel to like him when logically it shouldn’t matter. He'd behaved politely on Saturday after his friends had left his side, and now he was acting almost kind. The friends seemed like the issue, but that couldn't be correct - he was a lion rather than a sheep, a leader not a follower. And his quick dismissal of the bruise on his wrist was anything if not suspicious. 

Castiel ran through the possibilities in his mind. If he’d gotten it fighting, he would have worn it like a trophy, proof of his masculinity. If he’d done it by mistake, similarly he wouldn’t hide it, he'd possible make a joke out of it. But if he thought it was something shameful that shouldn’t be seen, then he probably would seek to cover it. He could just as easily have come up with a lie, but instead he pretended it didn’t exist. _Curious,_ Castiel thought. He came to the conclusion that maybe it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, he could have just lost the fight he'd gotten it in and was trying to hide it out of shame. That seemed like something he would do, to protect his precious ego if nothing else. Besides, any conclusion Castiel came to by himself was sure to be flawed - his understanding of human behaviour was hardly exemplary.

When the bell that signalled the end of the school day rang, Castiel began the walk to Coffee House. A lot of kids went to the mall after school some days, so he always ended up awkwardly trying to speed past a few in order to make it to his shift on time. It was uneventful, as always. He was back to cleaning tables and helping out Cook in the kitchen and even serving the occasional customer. The latter was less frequent though. 

He began the short walk home at seven o’clock just as the September sun was beginning its descent over the horizon. He unlocked the front door and pushed it open, slightly confused to find all the lights on. Usually Gabriel would turn them off before he left to go to work in the morning, and he arrived home later than Castiel so, in theory, the house should still be in darkness just as it usually was. 

Castiel froze solid when he heard an off-key tune being sung, coming from the direction of the lounge. Who was in the house? Slowly, trying to subdue the rising feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, he rounded the corner and peeked into the living room.

“Gabriel?” Castiel said, shocked. He blinked twice just to be certain, and sure enough there he was – stretched out across the sofa with a bottle of vodka in his hand and several disposed cans of beer discarded all over the floor, completely empty. He must have been at it for hours, or simply very dedicated, in order to get through that much alcohol.

“Fuckers fired me, dint they?” he slurred, pressing the bottle to his lips and choking as it burnt his throat. “Apparally I diss…wassa word? Pu’ off cuzzomers. Can ya believe it?” 

“Gabe, did you lose your job?”

“Wha’ tha fuck did I just say? Need to get yer hearin’ checked, Cassie.”

“Gabriel, I think you’ve had enough,” Castiel said calmly, stepping over the disposed of cans and reaching out to take the bottle out of his older brother’s hands. 

“No!” Gabriel screeched, clutching it close to his chest and curling in on it, baring his teeth at Castiel like an animal. “We got no money, Cassie. Zilch! Nada! S’please jus’ lemme get shitfaced and worry 'bout shit tomorrow.”

“Why do we - I thought you said we were managing?” Castiel had always demanded to know what the money situation was like between them, and Gabriel had always insisted that they were getting by – barely, but they were managing it. It meant that Gabe had to work his fingers to the bone day after day and Castiel had to get two jobs himself, but they were surviving. Or he’d thought they were.

“I lied!” Gabe spat, throwing his head back against the arm of the chair. “We’re in s’much fuckin’ debt. They’re sayin’ we might lose the ‘ouse. We’ll be sleepin’ in the streets!” he wailed brokenly as he took another swig.

“Where did it all go? The money?” Castiel asked. Every brother and sister they had sent them as much as they could afford to keep the two of them on their feet. It turned out to be a few hundred a month – Michael was the biggest earner, but he was a stingy bastard and gave as little as he could get away with – but it had always been enough to help them get by. Castiel had a grim thought that all this alcohol must have come from somewhere. 

“Yerv got it!”

“What? I don’t have it,” Castiel all but shrieked. Had they been robbed or scammed out of their money, and Gabriel thought it was him stealing? How could Gabe even think he would do something like that? He didn't show it much, but he appreciated Gabriel beyond anything even he could understand. His older brother had given up his life and his dreams. Did he really come across as that ungrateful?

“S’all those stupid fuckin’ pills. Costs a fortune, it does.”

Castiel knew his medication wasn't exactly cheap, but he didn’t think it was enough to put them into as much debt as this. Anyway, Gabriel had always insisted that it didn't matter. What mattered most was that Castiel was healthy and happy. Apparently that had changed. He could get another job a few hours a week, and maybe Gabriel could get a night shift somewhere or find a job that didn't pay below the minimum wage. The house was big, but Gabriel had always said that the bills were reasonable – and as for the pills, he said they were a decent price all things considered. He realised with a start that Gabriel had been lying to him all this time, and dealing with the stress of their money worries all by himself. With far too much pride to ask for help.

And Castiel couldn’t help but wonder…

“Is this my fault?” he whispered, not wanting to hear the answer. He already knew what it would be.

“Yes!” Gabriel snarled without hesitation, his voice filled with an angry rage Castiel had never heard before. “You and yer fuckin’ problems! I tried s’hard, Cas, an’ I get nuffin. Ye jus’ shut me out. Y’know what? Fuck you! Fuck fuck fuck you! An' fuck you s'more.”

Gabriel had always been so understanding and patient with him, he could never have possibly guessed that it had made him this bitter: trying so hard without getting anything in return. Castiel chewed on his lip and blinked the threatening wetness out of his eyes. He wished beyond anything that he could just be anything else but this, be someone who could give Gabriel everything he deserved from a little brother rather than a useless waste of space like he was.

“I’m…soh-sorry, Gabe,” Castiel said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. He didn't know what made him want to apologise, it would be useless either way. Gabriel turned away from him, flipping him off in the process. He'd ruined it, he'd ruined everything. His damn selfishness had made Gabriel hate him. He wasn't sure if he could live with that. Maybe Gabriel was just overemotional and the booze was making him say things he didn't mean. Castiel disregarded that possibility when something Gabriel himself had said not long ago popped into his mind. _People always reveal themselves when they're drunk, Cas. So don't ever get too smashed or that semi-functional filter of yours will be in tatters._ Castiel knew that Gabriel had been joking with him, but part of it rung true. 

This was what Gabriel's honest to God thoughts and feelings regarding Cas were, the ones he would never admit even if someone put a gun to his head while he was sober.

Castiel ran to his room, and slammed the door behind him. He wanted to throw things and scream and cry but he knew he couldn’t. His life wasn’t some stupid crappy movie and if he broke down he’d annoy Gabriel even more and then have to clean it up himself which would only resort in him feeling terribly guilty and probably crying again. It wouldn’t matter if he’d lost control or not, he would still be to blame. He would always be to blame. 

Everything was his fault, it didn't matter what anyone could say to try to convince him otherwise, because it would always be true. Had he never been born his mother would still be alive, his father still happy and stable at home and Gabriel free and able to pursue everything he wanted. He held people back, and he always had since the moment he was born. He was a mistake. A useless, pathetic, sorry excuse for a human being. On top of that he was defective, he couldn't help that and he spent the best part of every day wishing it was different. If he'd been normal maybe his father wouldn't have found it so difficult to cope, and they'd all have survived like some little broken family, but at least they'd be together.

He considered calling Anna, but refrained from doing so. She didn't deserve to have him dump all his problems on her. She was busy with her school work, she’d mentioned on the phone the previous night that she was already up to her eyeballs in essays and coursework to complete. Castiel didn’t want to bother her, she probably hated him more than Gabriel did. Just like Gabe, she'd never admit it. She’d always said to call her whenever he needed to – even if it was three in the morning and she had twelve papers due the next day, it could wait because family was more important.

She was right. Family was more important, and that's why he put the phone down on his night stand and curled up in a ball beneath his duvet cover not even bothering to remove his clothes. He was nothing but a dead weight, swinging around and crushing the things he loved the most. He was a burden, a nuisance. An abomination. He felt the first tears trickle down his cheeks and suddenly he was unable to contain the emotion. He buried his head deep within his pillow and sobbed pitifully until he drifted off to a restless sleep, partially hoping he would never wake up.


	5. Chapter 5

The irritating blaring of the alarm clock stunned Castiel out of his sleep. He ached all over, and his wings twitched uncomfortably with every breath he took. He forced himself into sitting position, sending painful shivers running along his spine. His wings were closely bound against his back, he hadn’t let them free last night and the result was excruciating. He made a mental note never to make that same mistake again, but for now it didn't matter - he deserved the tingling pain. He scrambled from his bed and unceremoniously pulled off his baggy coat, jumper and shirt quickly followed by the gauze that was wrapped around him. He trembled with the tension in his wings and flapped them a few times to dispel the kinks in them. He didn’t bother to pull a shirt on, he wouldn’t have long before he’d have to change again anyway. Usually he wouldn't dare go shirtless, even if nobody was present, but this morning he felt strangely empty and apathetic, even more so than usual.

He stuck some bread in the toaster and hesitantly went to peek his head round the living room door. Gabriel was splayed awkwardly across the sofa, vodka bottle still firmly in his grip. While his toast was cooking Cas picked up all the discarded cans shoved them into the trash can in the kitchen. He tried to pry the empty vodka bottle out of his older brother’s hands, but his grip was too tight. Giving up, he went to pull the throw rug from the closet and lay it gently on top of Gabriel. He must have been freezing.

He’d have a killer hangover when he woke up, so Castiel set about cooking him some breakfast. It was the least he could do - he wasn’t much of a cook but hopefully the thought would be enough to calm Gabriel’s bitterness towards him. He wasn't sure he could bear it if Gabriel hated him, and he had to make it up to him somehow. After eating his toast he scrambled some eggs, cooked some beans, fried some bacon and made some more toast, adding a spoonful of sugar to everything just the way Gabriel liked it. He arranged it all on a plate and put it on the top shelf of the fridge. After a moment’s deliberation he also made a pot of coffee, but didn’t pour it, knowing Gabriel was very particular about how he liked his coffee and probably wouldn’t wake up for a while anyway. A cold, stale coffee was hardly the best way to apologise. He dug through the medicine cabinet until he found the packet of painkillers stuffed in the back, he was going to take some himself and leave the rest for Gabriel, but upon noticing that the packet only contained two, he decided to leave them out for his big brother. He could deal with the pain of sore wings for a day or two, it wasn't a big deal.

Taking notice of the time - he was running very late - Castiel tied the gauze around his wings once more, wincing at the pain it caused him, and threw on the same shirt and jumper he’d worn yesterday beneath his trench coat. His wings would be tender for a few days at least, and he would no doubt be in severe discomfort for that duration. It didn't matter, though, it was his own stupid fault.

It was raining outside. Castiel thought that should have put a damper on things, made his paper round less enjoyable or something, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was too preoccupied worrying about Gabriel – would his brother be okay? Would he still be mad at him? Would he even remember saying what he had? If so, would he try to convince Castiel that it was all the alcohol talking, or admit that everything he'd said was true. He could hardly see Gabriel doing something like that when he was sober, but it was still a possibility. 

He made a little extra effort going to leave the papers on people’s porches, shielding them from the rain. The downpour was so heavy that if he just chucked the newspapers on the lawn as usual, they would get soaked to the core and be unreadable. If people complained about that the price for refunds would probably come out of Castiel’s pay. The move wasn’t exactly selfless, but it was the thought that counted. He couldn't lose any money now, not when the state they were in was already so dire, as he'd learnt just last night.

He walked up the porch to one of the houses on the last block he delivered to, and was surprised when someone opened the door. People rarely did that when they saw him coming. In fact, most people didn't see him coming. He almost tripped when he realised it was Dean Winchester. He hadn’t realised that this was the boy’s house. He'd never really cared about the faces behind the closed doors. They were just brainless shells that got him those crucial few extra dollars he needed every week. It made him all sorts of uneasy that he had been indirectly taking money from a Winchester.

Dean looked different, like a ghost of his normal, irritating self. He had dark purple bags under his eyes, which were themselves shiny and rimmed slightly red. If Castiel didn't know better, he'd have thought he had been crying. Or perhaps he was sick, that seemed far more likely. Dean flashed him a pained smile, without a hint of his usual arrogance. Cas forgot what the hell he was meant to be doing here for a second before awkwardly thrusting the paper in Dean’s general direction and avoiding eye contact. 

“Thanks,” Dean said, his voice quivering ever so slightly, “just what I was looking for.”

“Dean!” an angry voice shouted from inside. He could have sworn Dean flinched at the sound of it, but that would have been ridiculous. What on earth could Dean Winchester possibly be afraid of? He didn’t say another word and simply closed the door with a self-pitying look on his face that he probably thought Castiel didn't notice. But Cas was nothing if not perceptive - of the little things at least. If something was blindingly obvious there was about a ninety per cent chance he wouldn't pick up on it, like when people made jokes or quoted movies and he'd just stare at them blankly until they shut up.

Castiel stood frozen for a few seconds. He cringed at the loud thud and the following high pitched yelp he heard from inside and ran away from the house to continue his paper round. He didn't want to think about what that could have been, and if he didn't think about it maybe he'd just forget.

* * *

Gabriel woke up a little after ten, and groaned at the throbbing pain in his head. Maybe he'd gone a bit overboard last night, he'd have to teach himself never to do that again. There was a time before his father had left when he wouldn't touch alcohol, not for any reason other than he didn't particularly want to, he had everything he wanted and needed, and getting drunk with friends didn't appeal to him. But since then things had become harder, and he had aged because of it - not physically, but mentally. He couldn't remember the last time he'd pulled a prank and it had been about a year since he'd gotten laid. Stupid responsibilities. Perhaps only his sweet tooth had remained, and maybe that would be enough. He made a mental note to ensure that next time he decided to get wasted he'd add a heap of sugar into his vodka to make the taste a little less unpleasant. He glanced down to see what mess he’d have to clean up – hopefully no vomit because it was a bitch to clean out of the carpet – and was shocked to find the floor completely clean and devoid of all evidence of his escapades last night. The only indication that he’d been drinking it all was the empty bottle he had clutched to his chest.

And…there was a blanket on top of him. He couldn’t have done it himself – he probably couldn’t even have walked across the room to the closet and back successfully. He'd have certainly injured himself on that adventure, but he felt no sign that anything was wrong except for the pain behind his eyes and the sounds of his heartbeat drumming in his ears that made him want to curl up on the ground and sleep for twenty years until the pain subsided. The growling of his stomach was also incredibly loud, he hadn’t eaten last night and was now greatly regretting that decision. Maybe if he’d had something to line his stomach before his drinking session had begun he wouldn’t be in such a state this morning. Or maybe not given the amount he'd had.

He hobbled into the kitchen, leaning onto the sides for support and trying to blink the bizarre shapes and colours out of his vision. He went to raid the cupboards in search of a quick fix that would numb the pain in his belly, but his eye was caught by a post-it note stuck on the fridge. The fridge was always completely bare, not even a novelty magnet in sight, because Castiel liked it that way. If they ever did have magnets they were always perfectly aligned at right angles next to each other

_I made you breakfast, it’s not much and you’ll have to heat it up. I found some painkillers as well, they’re on the side. There’s some coffee in the pot. I’m sorry._

Gabriel’s mouth dropped open as guilt washed over him. He couldn't remember much, but he knew the feeling was valid. Something had happened last night, and it was probably his fault (and that of the excessive quantities of alcohol he'd consumed). He pulled open the fridge and sure enough there was a plate of food there waiting for him, covered in a fine coating of sprinkled sugar. He looked to the counter, two little painkillers – extra strength – and a glass of water sat there waiting for him. He picked up the coffee pot – it was full.

He felt horrible, Castiel had gone to all of this trouble – but why? Why the hasty _I’m sorry_ at the end of the note? It was written in a scribble, as if he’d had trouble getting the two little words out. Gabriel realised that was probably true. Castiel had done all this, cleaned up his mess, kept him warm and cooked for him as a way to apologise.

What did he think he needed to apologise for? Gabriel couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was completely out of Castiel's nature to voluntarily do much for other people, it wasn't a selfish thing, he just hated the prospect of failing, and doing nothing was a sure fire way not to fail. Gabriel remembered Dr Miller telling him that she'd deduced that from their last meeting - and people are so easy to do wrong by, it made sense why Cas would be afraid of that.

Something niggled at him in the back of his mind, not quite a memory but the ghost of one. A feeling, a blurry image that formed behind his eyes when he squeezed them shut. He remembered feeling angry, and seeing Castiel's face. He couldn’t remember what he’d said. But he did remember something. He remembered a distinct feeling of apathy and pure hatred when Castiel’s lower lip began to tremble, even worse he remembered turning away. God, what had he done? He hoped it was a dream, or some sort of illusion, but part of him screamed that that wasn't true.

"Shit,” Gabriel whispered to himself. He’d really gone and fucked it up this time. He wanted Castiel to feel safe here, this was his home! He'd promised himself seven years ago that no matter how difficult it got he'd be there for him, even if his little brother made him want to tear his hair out sometimes, he loved him more than anything. He didn’t want Castiel to hate him or dread coming home in the evenings, even worse be afraid of him. He couldn’t bear the thought of his younger brother doubting him. Sure, it annoyed him sometimes that Cas never opened up to him, but he figured that would happen in time. He’d ruined that now. That was just part of who Cas was, he didn't trust anyone except Anna, and that particular relationship was one the two of them had been building since Castiel was born, Anna had a nine year head start. It wasn't something that Cas meant any harm by, and Gabriel knew he'd trust him with his life - just not his thoughts. Those were private. Heck, even Anna had difficulty getting him to talk sometimes.

It was hard and it always would be, but he would rectify this even if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

It had stopped raining by the time Cas got to school, and the sun had come out and dried up all the puddles by lunchtime. He sat in his familiar corner of the quadrangle, but instead of reading he peered over the top of his book and spent the hour staring at Dean. His friends around him were making jokes and going about their normal business, but he was more quiet and reserved than Castiel had ever seen him. He had noticed this in Calculus and French as well, but had suspected it was due to boredom more than anything. Or maybe it was to do with the slowly forming bruise on his jaw that Castiel was sure hadn't been there this morning. As far as he could tell, nobody had asked him where he got it from, and he didn’t indulge them with such stories. He wondered where it had come from, and as was the norm with the easily palpable, Castiel looked straight past it.

When his friends were looking at him Dean's face lit up in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but was believable enough. However, the second they looked away it fell from his face like it didn't want to be there. He didn’t notice Castiel watching him, and if he had done he might have tried to hide his obvious discomfort better. Or maybe he wouldn't - who was Castiel to the masses other than the nobody who worked at Coffee House?

Dean was no brighter in English. He made no references that Castiel didn't understand, told no jokes and avoided eye contact at all costs. He kept biting his finger nails and touching his face in a way that Castiel was sure was meant to hide the purple bruise on his jaw. 

“What’s the story?” Castiel asked without thinking. Dean wasn’t talking, just scribbling circles onto his notebook around all the notes they’d made yesterday. It was highly unlikely that they'd get any work done today. Castiel shouldn’t care about Dean, he should be revelling in the boy's obvious suffering. He hated him, or at least he thought he did. And yet while he was sitting here, training his eyes on Dean from across the table, he wasn’t having any desires to tear out his partner's eyeballs. Perhaps it was because he was so full of curiosity and pity instead. Yeah, that had to be it. He wasn't insane, for crying out loud.

“What?” Dean said, furrowing his eyebrows and staring down at the page.

“That bruise, where’d it come from?” Castiel drummed his pen against his knuckles.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean retorted sulkily, reminding Cas of a petulant child.

“You could at least come up with a lie. Pretend you beat up some guy who threatened a friend, or a blind person. Everyone would love you--” 

“Can we drop it,” he spat. “Please?”

“You’re hiding something,” Castiel stated. It wasn’t a difficult conclusion to come to, and he realised he probably shouldn’t be saying it. Dean had asked specifically to change the subject, but he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving. He rambled when he was nervous, the rest of the time he simply remained quiet. 

“And you’re an asshole.”

“That was rude.”

“Why do you want to know anyway?” Dean said after a moment of silence. Castiel shrugged. He didn’t really know why it mattered to him so much. He was confused, his wings were aching and begging to be unbound and his mind was generally reeling. It was a combination of many things that led him to be completely out of it today.

Dean dragged his eyes up from the notepad and stared at Castiel. His eyes narrowed, like he was concentrating and suddenly Cas felt very self conscious. Did he have some sort of disgusting pimple on his head? That wasn’t the kind of thing he usually worried about, he knew he was ugly and somewhat repulsive, but he’d never really been subjected to anyone’s scrutiny before. It had never really mattered what he looked like, because nobody looked at him long enough to give it much thought themselves. Other people's opinions never really mattered to him much, because the worst, most revolting thing they could possibly think about him was nothing compared to what he thought about himself.

“You’re different,” Dean said. 

“I have Asperger’s,” Castiel replied flatly. _No shit,_ he wanted to say whilst applauding Dean for his flawless skills of observation. Dean probably didn’t know that about him and had just labelled him as odd. That’s what most people did. But Dean surely would have noticed before that he was, in fact, different and his reasoning behind mentioning it now was beyond Castiel.

“That’s not what I meant,” he whispered, staring intently into Castiel’s eyes as if he was searching for something there. Cas found himself staring back. He didn’t drop his eyes or make one of those comments that led into an incredibly awkward conversation about insects and honey bees like he usually would have to end this kind of silence. He hated having Dean's eyes on him - it made him want to throw up - and he heard some little voice in the back of his head telling him to run or hide, anything that it took to tear the penetrating gaze away from him. But he couldn't, his rational mind stopped turning all together and all he could focus on was the bright green eyes gazing in his direction.

The bell rang moments later. He never did find out what Dean meant.

* * *

“Mom! Are you home?” Jo called as she wandered into her house and flicked the lights on with Ash and Dean following right behind her. Ash had been staying here for the past few weeks while his parents were away on a business trip. In the Canary Islands. In a five star hotel. In other words, they’d left their only son in Kansas while they went on an end-of-summer vacation celebrating his return to school and their final days of peace. Ash might have been massively bright, but he wasn’t the wisest when it came to common sense so he hadn't quite managed to put two and two together about his parents' absence yet.

“Dean!” Ellen greeted, pulling him into a hug. To her, he was family, as was his younger brother. She only extended that courtesy to his father, John, out of politeness. If she was honest she found him gruff, irritating and horribly short tempered. Nothing too different from herself but she liked to think she was at least fair. She'd lost count at the amount of times she'd seen John treat his sons far less than impartially.

“Hey, Ellen,” Dean said, forcing a smile. He could get away with acting distant at school, but Ellen had eyes like a hawk. She’d notice something was up if he let his façade drop for anything less than a second. He could really do without her calling him out on it; that would be inconvenient more than anything and he couldn't risk Ellen calling his father. That would end the opposite of well for him.

“Nicer shiner you’ve got there, boy” she commented. “You been fighting again?”

“I beat up this guy. He was, er, picking on a blind kid. Came out a lot worse than me,” Dean said with a coy smile, coaxing his eyes to light up with the grin.

“That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard,” she laughed. “How’s your brother?”

“He’s good, bratty and annoying as ever but whatcha gonna do?” Dean joked, his brother could be the biggest dick in the world and Dean would still adore him. Usually he wouldn’t leave Sam on his own, but he was out with his friends. Jess – who Dean could tell he had a massive crush on – and the other girl. Morgan, he thought her name was. She trailed after Sammy like a golden retriever and made no secret of the fondness she felt towards him. Sam was practically blind to that. Idiot.

Puppy love, eh? The story of the whirlwind preteen romance. Quite honestly, it made him want to vomit.

She laughed again. “Give him my love, will ya? I'll be out of you kids' way."

“Bye!” Jo said enthusiastically, all but pushing her mother out of the way so the three of them could bolt upstairs to Jo’s room. Dean liked it at Jo’s, he felt at home here. If he was honest he preferred Jo’s dad to his own. Bobby was curt and drank too much beer but he wasn’t violent or intimidating and was nothing if not just. He wasn’t Jo’s real dad, of course; that man had died when Jo was a baby. Ellen had remarried a couple of years later, so Jo had never known any other father. Bobby had even legally adopted her.

“So, Dean, how’s your English project going?” Ash asked. Jo rolled her eyes. Ash was always going on about school work, it was as if he liked it or something. In all honesty, Dean thought he simply liked being the smartest of their group rather than doing the actual work. Having people relying on him to give them test answers and do their projects for them was what he loved. 

“Not too bad,” he said, wanting the conversation to move onto much more interesting grounds.

“I'm stuck with that guy Rob, he's so irritating I want to rip my eyes out. You’re with that Novak kid aren’t you?”

“Really?” Jo said, breaking into laughter, “wow, that’s awkward.”

“Bet he hates you,” Ash chuckled.

“God, yes,” Dean said, “but he’s alright. Hasn’t ripped my throat out yet so that’s something I guess.”

“Y’know, I barely even noticed him before…” Jo said.

“Before the others kicked the shit out of him?” Ash offered.

“Yeah,” she said, throwing herself down on her bed

“Control your armies, Winchester!” Ash exclaimed dramatically, lightly punching Dean in the arm.

“I’ll try, dickhead,” Dean retorted with a much harder punch to Ash’s shoulder.

* * *

“This is useless,” Jess sighed, resting her head in her hands. Morgan hadn’t stopped going on about the guy at the library since Saturday and it was starting to bore the crap out of her. And now here they were, in a far corner of Coffee House watching some random dude cleaning tables. Morgan was practically bouncing off the walls. But then again she had a rather obsessive personality and it was something Jess had been able to come to terms with recently.

“No, no! That’s definitely him!” she screeched.

“Can we go home now?” Sam said, peering up from his book. He’d agreed to come along on this stake out on one condition: he didn’t have to do anything. Jess had made no such promise. She wished she'd had the foresight to come up with something similar, that kid was too clever for his own good. And by that she meant she'd end up killing him herself simply out of jealousy if he didn't watch out.

“Jess, you have to go check.”

“What? Why me?” Jess protested. She was so not buying into this.

“He’ll recognise me from the library and think I’m stalking him or something.”

“Oh, yes, I completely forgot that’s the opposite of what we’re doing here, isn’t it?”

Morgan huffed. “Just go up to him and see if you can feel any wings.”

“You want me to molest a stranger’s back?” Jess said, raising her eyebrows. Morgan’s responsive stare remained strong and it was Jess who cracked first. “Fine!”

She pushed herself off of her chair and walked behind the boy. He'd been wiping this particular table for far too long now, it was definitely more clean than it needed to be. She awkwardly pretended to be getting some milk from the stand behind him, not really wanting to start feeling him up in public. This was such a dumb idea. She was going to string Morgan up for this.

“What do I do?” she mouthed at her friend, who simply shrugged. Sam ignored the both of them, cowering further behind his book in an attempt to block out the embarrassment that would surely follow. Bright kid.

Acting on impulse, Jess plowed straight into the boy, almost knocking him over. It wasn't the best plan in the world, but hopefully once she'd gotten over the mortification they could all go home and perhaps, if they were lucky, Morgan would shut up.

“Oh, sorry!” Jess exclaimed, as if her ungraceful stumble could have possible have been perceived as an accident. She pretended to steady him with a hand on his back. He flinched away from the contact and mumbled something she couldn’t hear before heading out of the back door.

Morgan leapt from her seat and rushed over to Jess. 

“There was definitely something there!” Jess whispered. Maybe Morgan had been right. She could hardly believe it, but there was a first time for everything and it seemed that Morgan's audacity and lack of understanding of human boundaries had finally paid off.

“Come on!” Morgan said, grabbing Jess by the hand and yanking Sam up from his seat by his hair. Sam squealed but followed the girls without question, he'd have to get his hair cut soon because this was happening far too often for his taste. The three of them ran around the back of the shop and halted, peeking slowly around the corner. Jess pulled her phone out of her back pocket, nobody would believe this unless she got proof. She wasn’t even sure she believed it herself, but she loved gossip and if it was true then she'd gotten the best gossip that anyone could ever have laid their hands on.

Castiel quickly glanced around, he couldn’t see anybody – nobody in their right mind would come back here anyway. Behind the coffee shop was disgusting, there were bin bags with rubbish spewing out of them everywhere and he could have sworn he saw a couple of rats scurrying around. He tore his apron off and dropped it on the floor, not caring if it got stained. It’d wash out. All he could concentrate on was the burning pain in his wings.

He should have been more careful last night, sleeping with his wings bound wad the worst possible thing he could have done. It made them sore and tender on his back, even the lightest touch could send them into agony. The girl had knocked into his back - his wings – with a great force and then touched them afterwards. They were burning, if the notion wasn't so illogical he might have thought they were on fire.

Without thinking he pulled his jumper and shirt off over his head and quickly unwound the gauze that held his wings close to his back. He slowly unfurled them, twitching out the aches in his muscles as they moved. He couldn’t stay here long, he had to get back before anyone noticed he was gone. He flapped his wings twice and turned around. There, by the corner of the wall were three people. Staring at him, mouths almost reaching the floor. Dammit, it was that girl from the library. And there was the girl who had knocked into him just a moment ago. His wings flapped with agitation and the three of them gasped and turned from him, running away before he could say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend Rob was being a dick so I got Ash to insult him. The finest form of revenge.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean dragged himself down the stairs with little conviction on Friday morning. It may only have been the second week back but already he was growing tired of school’s repetitive motions. He longed for the weekends where he could laze about for two solid days. Or at least not having to get up at the crack of Satan's ass.

Sam was already up, the kid had far too much energy than was normal for any twelve year old. He was sat at the little kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal. That was another thing Dean was tired of; cereal. And getting up early. The same thing every day, it bored him. It was beyond tedious. He never really liked routine very much, where was the excitement and the drive?

“Hey, Dean! Guess what!” Sammy sang, his voice becoming that high pitched squeak it often transformed to when he was excited. It grated on Dean’s nerves, but he could never be mad at Sam for it. It was just - Sam. Dean being mad at Sam was about as possible as the sun setting in the east. If he had to be mad at anything, he'd be mad at the sun itself for rising so damn early. Mornings, he was sure, were the inventions of the Devil himself. Who’s idea was it to make school start at this time? It was unhealthy if nothing else.

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” Dean groaned, not quite awake enough yet to deal with his little brother’s dramatics.

“Y’know that kid that works at Coffee House? The one with the dark hair?”

“Yeah, I know him,” Dean said warily. Why would Sam be so excited about anything to do with Castiel? He was different and strange and…enticing…in a weird way. But Sammy couldn’t know that, he doubted they’d even ever exchanged words with each other. 

“He has wings!” 

“What?” Dean lost his composure for just a second and dropped the box of plain boring same-as-every-other-day cereal on the floor, splattering its contents. _Shit_ , if his dad found out, he’d end up being late to school again. He began hurriedly clearing it up.

“Yeah, I saw them!”

“Sammy, that’s bullshit. I know Cas, I’m pretty sure I’d notice if he had a pair of wings sticking out of his back,” Dean said impatiently, cursing at the wheat hoops which were scattering themselves across the linoleum.

“That’s the thing, Dean. He keeps them tied up on his back. Doesn’t look very comfortable.” Sam frowned.

“Well, if he keeps them hidden how did you see them?”

“Jess bumped into him and she must have hurt him or something because he went outside and unwrapped them,” Sam folded his arms across his chest and a distinctly smug look crossed his face. 

Dean thought for a second, he was about to make another point about how utterly ridiculous that sounded, but stopped himself. He finished cleaning up the floor and poured himself some cereal, far more carefully this time. It wouldn’t be too absurd, he figured. Castiel wore nothing but several layers of baggy clothing, it was definitely possible for him to hide wings under there. But something just didn’t seem right.

“What do you mean unwrapped them?” Dean asked, confused by Sam’s choice of word. He was pretty sure they couldn’t have been wrapped around his body or anything. He’d seen wings before, on Anna Milton, and they looked pretty sturdy, not much like they could be easily folded away. But then again, he didn’t know a great deal about wings or the people who had them as his relationship with Anna had lasted less than three hours. If you could call it a relationship.

“He had like this…tape wrapped around them. Like a bandage.”

“And you’re sure? That he has them, I mean?” 

“Yeah, Dean, I promise!”

Dean thought for a second. “I’m not sure Sammy, are you certain it was him?”

“Definitely, I swear.”

Dean chewed his cereal thoughtfully, he was still skeptical; how could Castiel have wings? He knew Sammy’s imagination could run a bit wild sometimes, but he wasn’t a liar. Nor was he stupid. Dean made a mental note to ask Castiel himself, and take whatever he said as the truth. He didn’t particularly trust Castiel all that much, but why would he lie about something like that? And if he was winged, why hide them? It seemed very inconvenient more than anything. It didn’t make much sense to Dean. Sure, people were bitches these days, and winged folk got a lot of shit, just like he had when he came out, but it would die down eventually so why would he subject himself to the pain and inconvenience?

He left the house with his little brother before their dad was even awake – Dean took extra care to make sure there were no stray pieces of cereal left on the floor – and arrived at school earlier than usual. Jo arrived at the high school mere seconds after he did, and began a one sided conversation with him about something he couldn't care less about. His mind was full of questions, mainly about Castiel. The kid was weird, that much was true. But Dean didn’t take him as deceitful or even as someone who would hide behind a fake mask. He was strange, but he was real. That was what Dean liked about him – not him as a person, necessarily, it was just that that particular personality trait was difficult to find – he was honest. It may have been to do with the fact that he had no filter from brain to mouth, something that was completely beyond his own control, but it was still something Dean admired, especially since he spent most of his days surrounded by a bunch of assholes.

Dean thought long and hard about ways to ask Castiel about the wings situation. He couldn’t just come straight out with it, but he wasn’t really sure how to bring the topic up sensitively. Sensitivity in itself wasn't really Dean's area of expertise. He couldn’t ask subtly without Cas growing suspicious. It didn’t look like he had a great deal of choice in the matter.

The subject was dismissed completely when Dean got to Calculus and Castiel wasn’t there. Castiel’s seat remained empty during French as well, and after lunch in English Dean was forced to continue making notes on _The Great Gatsby_ by himself – with some help from Ash. Everyone else had already compiled all of their notes and was beginning on the artistic part of their project, which was to be handed in on Wednesday. There was no way they could complete it on Monday and Tuesday alone, and they’d probably have needed some time on the weekend to finish it anyway, but now that was a definite. Dean wasn't sure whether he liked that prospect or not.

Carefully – he didn’t want to get it confiscated yet again – Dean pulled out his phone and scrolled down his contacts list until he found Cas’ number. He was suddenly thankful that Castiel had been so diligent as to text him earlier in the week to confirm his number, it had saved Dean some trouble at the very least. Quickly, glancing up every so often to check for Mrs Harrow’s irksome presence over his shoulder, he typed out a brief message to Castiel asking him to come over on Saturday. 

Just as he pressed the send button, the bell rang and he headed off to Biology. Mr McKenzie spent the lesson ranting for the third time since the start of the semester about the behaviour he expected in his class. The man was a freak, he was unnecessarily strict about everything. If you so much as coughed in his classroom you'd find yourself in detention. Dean wished he was exaggerating but that had actually happened once, to him no less. His dad hadn’t been too thrilled about that; if you get in trouble at school you’re in trouble at home as well. Most of the time it didn’t matter, though, seeing as the principal was Wilson’s father Dean got away with a lot of things that many others would not. Mr McKenzie, however, had insisted on calling John Winchester himself to inform him of Dean's blatant disrespect. Had his father been in a better mood, Dean might have just about gotten away with it. But when was his dad ever in a good mood?

Using Mr McKenzie’s distraction as a cover, Dean pulled out his phone every so often to check for a reply from Castiel. He wasn’t sure why, but he was anxious to hear from him. There was something about that boy that intrigued him, beyond his blatant disregard for human boundaries and hypnotising ocean blue eyes. The lesson drew to a slow close and the class, having not learnt a single thing, filed out of the room in silence. Nobody wanted to get held back after class on a Friday just because Mr McKenzie was on his man period.

Dean quickly made his way to the parking lot and started up the Impala, he never had time to hang around after school like everyone else seemed to. Sammy finished school the same time Dean did, and if the kid was left waiting for long he became very bitchy. Technically, he could walk home, but John would never allow it. _Keep Sammy safe,_ that was what was most important. And who knows what kind of monsters could be found prowling this small town in search of unsuspecting twelve year old boys. Dean was positive kidnappings, murders and the likes didn't happen as much as his father made out, but it was better not to chance it. If anything ever happened to Sam because of his ignorance he would never forgive himself - and nor would John for that matter, and he'd sport the bruises to show it, if he even came out alive that was.

Dean honked his horn impatiently, Sam was standing against the wall leaning dangerously close to Jessica Moore. The kid might not even be a teenager yet, but Dean was certain that he’d end up having to give Sammy _the talk_ sooner rather than later. He could joke about those things pretty easily, but when it came to having serious conversations he found himself unable to keep a straight face. He dreaded to think how that conversation would go.

“Jesus, Sammy, keep it in your pants,” Dean joked as Sammy hopped into the front seat of the Impala. He childishly stuck his tongue out at his older brother. “I have to hand it to you, I like this one more than that Ruby chick. Man, she was creepy.”

“Shut up.”

“You should invite Jess over for dinner one night, so Dad and I can get to know your girlfriend," Dean said, leaning over to ruffle Sam's floppy hair.

“Can we go out, Dean?” Sam said clicking his tongue impatiently and ignoring Dean’s comment. Dean sighed and shook his head in response. John was always very clear about that and demanded they be straight home after school unless he’d been otherwise informed. It would be Dean’s head on the line if he found out they’d gone out without permission.

“Pleeeeease, it’s Friday!” Sam whined, turning his big hazel eyes in Dean’s direction. 

“Fine!” Dean said, giving up. All hope was lost whenever Sam turned those puppy eyes on Dean, and he’d give them kid whatever he wanted. Even if it was one of his own limbs. 

“Can we go to Coffee House?”

“If this is about Cas--”

“No, it’s not, I just want some coffee.”

“You hate coffee,” Dean said, turning the car around to head towards the mall where the coffee shop was. What Sammy wanted, Sammy got.

“I’ve developed a taste for it,” Sam said stubbornly. Dean rolled his eyes. Of course he had.

* * *

Castiel had hoped he’d be able to get through the rest of the day as unnoticed as possible, he didn’t even turn up for school and he ignored Dean’s text when it popped up on his phone. He just wanted to make sure that the people who had seen his wings hadn’t been spreading gossip before he resumed contact with the real world.

However, he had gone into work today and done overtime to bring in more money. It didn't really count as social interactions because people generally ignored him, even on the rare occasions he actually had to serve drinks. Gabriel hadn’t been able to find a job yet, though he’d spent most of the day avidly searching. The conversation they’d had when Castiel got home the previous night had been nothing short of awkward. It had resulted in him crying again, which seemed to be happening a lot lately – he’d never really thought of himself as much of a crier, but looking over the last few years now perhaps he always had been. Despite Gabriel’s words of reassurance, he couldn’t help but think it was all his fault. Which it was, there was no _think_ about it – just fact. He’d told Gabe that he could stop taking his medicine if it was becoming too expensive, but Gabriel had completely shot down that proposal before it had even finished leaving his mouth. Gabriel then went on to explain that money wasn’t important, they could end up living on the streets for all he cared, what really mattered was that Castiel was happy. Castiel wondered, though he didn’t say so, how he could possibly be happy if they were penniless and poverty stricken. It seemed difficult at the least.

So, instead of spending the day at home with Gabriel (who was searching through about ten different newspapers in search of employment) he opted to spend the entire day at work to bring in some extra cash. God knows they needed it now more than ever.

Today was Liam’s day off, and Tay had some wedding to go to so it was just Castiel and Raj at Coffee House today. He thought for a moment if he should tell Boss that they needed new staff, they were awfully thin on the ground. Maybe he could get Gabriel working there full time? For some reason, Cas doubted it. Nobody ever saw Boss - or even knew his real name - so Castiel asking him for a favour didn't seem like a good plan.

It was just past four when he noticed Dean Winchester walk through the door. _Great,_ he thought to himself. Raj was off who knows where, and now he had to think up an excuse as to why he hadn’t been in school today and hadn’t bothered to reply to his text message. Castiel wasn’t a brilliant liar so there was only one direction this could go in. And that was badly.

Dean walked straight up to the counter and smiled at Cas, which was when he, Castiel, noticed the younger boy stood beside him. A boy he recognised from – from yesterday. He’d been one of the three preteens who’d witnessed him taking his wings out. _Why on earth were they together?_

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said with a kind smile on his face. He looked happier today, less distant, despite the purple bruise that still claimed his jawline. Castiel took Dean’s use of his nickname as a symbol that they were at least friendly acquaintances, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. A small but prominent part of his mind screamed whenever he saw Dean Winchester’s face and proposed a violent attack was the correct course of action, but another section of Castiel’s mind liked his company. That was the part that he tried to suppress, but somehow always ended up winning.

“Hello, Dean," he said uncomfortably, pretending to search for something behind the counter.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, you weren’t at school,” Dean commented. The younger boy by Dean’s side stared at Castiel with wide, curious eyes that made him feel sick to his stomach. 

“Er, yeah. I-I wasn’t feeling too good…but I guess I’m fine now,” Cas replied in a low voice, avoiding the two pairs of prying eyes that were fixed on him and scratching a phantom itch that had appeared on the back of his neck.

After a millisecond of uncomfortable silence, Dean turned to Sam and asked what he wanted, before turning back to Castiel and placing an order of an espresso and an iced café mocha. As Castiel was making the drinks Dean told Sammy to go and find a seat while he waited, which the twelve year old did begrudgingly. He picked a seat very close to the counter and set his trained eyes on Castiel, watching him with fascination. Castiel felt vaguely like a zoo animal, trapped in a cage and forced to just deal with the invasive stares as if it was something easily done.

Looking at him now, Dean knew that what Sam had said had to have been false. He couldn’t have wings, it just wouldn’t work. Sure his clothes were baggy but they didn’t have enough give to hide a pair of wings, not comfortably at least. And who would force themselves to endure that kind of torture day in, day out? Nobody with an ounce of sense, at least, and Dean knew that Castiel had more than enough sense to go around.

“Er, Cas?” Dean said when the boy placed the drinks in front of him and asked him for seven dollars and sixty five cents. Castiel looked up at him expectantly, feigning eye contact by focussing his gaze on the bridge of Dean’s nose – a trick he’d learnt long ago, and one that was more easily employed now that he didn't feel like a grenade about to explode. “Did you get my text?”

Castiel dropped his gaze, he knew this would come up. The English project was worth quite a high percentage of their final grade for this semester, so they could hardly forget about it (Cas was still in a state of shock that Dean even cared about what grade he got). Most teachers would insist a project such as this was more about the content than the design of it, but then again Mrs Harrow wasn’t like most teachers. If it didn’t look pretty there was very little chance she’d even look at it. 

“I’m not sure,” Castiel said, pretending to type something important into the cash register. What that could possibly be, he had no idea. “I’ll have to check with my brother…I’d have to take the day off work…” he said to the till, glancing up at Sam, who was still staring at him. Maybe if he didn't look in that direction the prickling sensation along his spine would disappear.

“You could probably take a sick day,” Dean whispered, “then you can take the day off and still get paid.”

Castiel’s eyes widened at the concept. It was possible, he was sure. He’d never taken a sick day before so he wasn’t sure what the company’s policy on them was. It involved lying as well, and he was pretty certain he’d probably get caught. 

“C’mon, we’ll have the house to ourselves. Sammy’s out all day and Dad’s at work. We’ll probably finish it pretty quickly anyway.” 

That did sound more inviting. Castiel would silently dread the notion of spending a day, alone, with Dean Winchester. But if the younger boy, Dean’s brother he figured, wasn’t there maybe he had nothing to worry about. And Dean was being perfectly polite, so maybe he hadn’t told him about what he’d seen yesterday anyway. Nobody was ever this polite to somebody who had wings, it just didn't happen.

Castiel chewed on his lip, and reluctantly nodded. Dean smiled and handed Cas a ten dollar bill, telling him to keep the change as he took his drinks and went to sit with Sammy.

“Come on, boy, let’s get to work!” Raj said, suddenly appearing from some unknown place. Castiel glared at him, and chanted _don't punch him, you'll get fired_ in his head repeatedly until he no longer felt the urge to kill his coworker.

* * *

Castiel stood at the bottom of the porch steps, staring up at the house in front of him. He was starting to feel like this was a bad idea. He’d probably get attacked again - it wouldn't be past Dean to give him a bruise or two. He'd never seen the boy assist in beating up anyone, but he didn't doubt for a second that he was capable. Why did he suddenly trust Dean to treat him kindly? If he knew Dean - he wasn't sure he did, but he could skip over that little bit of information - he knew that he couldn’t be trusted. _This was an awful idea_. Castiel should have at least suggested they meet in a public place where there would at least be witnesses if he were to get beaten again. But then Dean would have an audience. He couldn't decide which was better or worse.

He forced himself to trudge up the steps, he was here now so he might as well get it over with. It wasn't like he could go to work or anything, having gotten Gabriel to phone in early this morning to inform them that Castiel was bedridden with fever. He knocked on the door timidly, and it opened within half a second. 

“Hey, Cas,” said Dean, smiling way too enthusiastically. It was suspicious to say the least. “I’ve got all the stuff we need, I found this big canvas in the attic and bought some paint and stuff we can use…” Castiel ignored Dean’s rambling. He was speaking far too quickly and trying to hold Cas’s eyes with his own. It didn’t work, Castiel’s gaze drifted to the cut on his cheek bone and what looked like a small succession of bruises made from finger tips along the curve of his neck. He thought they could have been love bites, Castiel didn’t know a lot about hickeys but he was fairly sure they shouldn’t be so small and close together. It didn't take long for Castiel to notice that Dean was also limping, and hissing between words at the pain that walking caused him.

Castiel wondered if the other guy came out worse.

Dean led Castiel into the living room, where a large canvas lay on the floor under a few spread out newspapers – he mentioned something about not staining the carpet. They gathered all their notes together and began figuring out what they would do. Dean had already painted the canvas with a white base coat and written _The Great Gatsby_ in cursive in the centre.

Castiel found himself watching intently as Dean focussed on delicately transferring their notes from notepad to canvas. If Cas had tried to do the same thing himself he’d most likely have done nothing but gotten the paint everywhere and caused a horrible mess – it probably wasn’t necessary that he even be here, since Dean was doing all the work himself. All Castiel had to do was man the pipe cleaners and glitter glue – Mrs Harrow had mentioned her love for glitter on several occasions, and it couldn't hurt to try and buy a good grade with a sparkly project – while Dean did the brunt of the work. It was a turn of events Castiel had never imagined would occur.

“Why do you wear that coat all the time?” Dean asked while they were eating left over Chinese food and waiting for the paint to dry, it was nearing four o'clock. “It’s boiling in here.”

It was true, Castiel was beginning to burn up, and he was sure Dean could tell by the flush of his cheeks. It wasn’t so much warm as it was humid, the air was close and almost suffocating. Castiel would probably have overheated and passed out by now if he wasn’t so used to it.

Castiel just shrugged.

“Do you have wings?” Dean asked. His tone of voice was nonchalant, as if he was asking about the weather, but his eyes darted around nervously. He knew this was unchartered territory. It seemed to Castiel that Dean's younger brother had, in fact, told him what he’d seen - that wasn't the kind of question anybody just asked out of curiosity. Castiel thanked what few lucky stars he had that Dean had asked him first instead of spreading rumours.

“No,” Castiel said with a slight smirk, trying to make it seem as natural as possible - no doubt failing miserably, but Dean didn't seem to pick up on that.

“Sammy said you did,” said Dean thoughtfully, “I told him it was ridiculous.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I dated a girl with wings once,” Dean continued, to fill the silence if nothing else, Castiel perked up at that. He couldn’t mean...? “Well, sorta. I mean, I fucked her. S’pose you heard about it. Everyone did. Meg spread it when I turned her down last year. I think she expected people to actually care, but they didn’t. Not to me, anyway. They were horrible to her.” Dean chuckled to himself. “I tell you what, those guys were missing out. Winged girls are kinky as fuck. They're pretty cool too, hers were this dark red colour and when she--”

“SHUT UP!” Castiel shrieked, launching himself on top of Dean and pinning him down, ignoring the way the other whimpered at the pressure Cas was applying to his left shoulder. “That's my sister,” he growled in a voice as low and threatening as he could muster. Anger pulsed through him, more than could be cured by rubbing his torso or his wings, and besides this time he didn't want to. He wanted to hurt Dean instead - it was the kind of urge that Dr Miller had always told him were bad and should be released in a healthy way. He didn't care for that, he wanted to leave bruises on the other's body.

“Oh, God. Man, I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know!” 

Cas didn’t even feel his muscles move as one of his hands gripped Dean around the throat, while the other fist connected with his cheekbone.

* * *

As was previously established, despite his weedy physique, Castiel Novak could throw one hell of a right hook. Especially when his victim was unsuspecting and/or pinned to the ground. He could have continued punching Dean quite easily, and he was getting a gross sort of satisfaction from the small mewling noises he'd been making as he tried to breathe around Castiel's grip on his throat - he wasn’t even fighting back, but there was something in the boy’s eyes that made him stop. The fact that Cas had noticed that in itself was peculiar, he’d only glanced at Dean’s eyes for a second to make sure he’d _never_ speak of his sister with such disrespect again and he’d been shocked by what he found.

Fear. Or at least a trace of it. 

Castiel scrambled back into the far corner and pulled his knees up to his chest to stifle his trembling. He wanted to apologise, and he thought that he probably should, but he knew the words would be nothing but lies. He wasn’t sorry. He wanted to beat Dean bloody because he was nothing more than an asshole. An asshole who had fucked his flesh and blood and bragged to him about it. 

“That’s the problem with being a slut,” Dean said tentatively, coughing and wheezing around the words and rubbing at the cut forming beneath the bruise on his eye socket. Cas was a little shocked he’d actually managed to break the skin. “You always end up shagging someone’s sister. Then this happens.” He spoke almost regretfully. He must have been one hell of an actor, because Castiel almost believed it.

“If I ask you a question will you punch me again?” Dean said quietly, staring down at the floor and hunching his shoulders in what Castiel hoped was shame. It sounded like the words should have been accompanied by an arrogant grin or a wink, but Dean’s face was solemn and more honest than Castiel had ever seen before.

“Depends what the question is,” Castiel replied honestly. He couldn’t promise to suppress the urge to beat Dean half to death, in fact the primal instinct was rapidly winning out against his better judgement.

“If your sister has wings...then why don’t you?”

“It’s genetics,” Castiel said simply after a moment. The question was harmless enough. “My mother had wings but my father didn’t. It’s the same as any other gene, you never know if you’ll get it or not – it’s more of a chance thing. Like...some children can roll their tongues and others can’t.”

“Is it just you? That doesn’t have wings, I mean.”

“No, Rachel and Inias don’t either.”

Dean nodded attentively and picked the carpet between his fingers. “I like you,” he whispered tentatively, as if he were ashamed to admit it. Castiel narrowed his eyes, certain that Dean was making fun of him. “You’re not fake,” he continued, sensing Castiel’s discomfort. “Look, I’ll tell my friends not to be dicks to you. I mean, I’d ask you to hang out with us but…” Dean stared. Castiel looked away, consumed by the intricate patterns on the ceiling. “Why do you hate me, Castiel? Aside from the obvious.”

Castiel wrung his hangs together. Why should he grace Dean with the answer to that question? The fact that he couldn’t even remember made the rage begin to burn hotter and deeper within Castiel’s chest. Maybe, at the very least, he could make Dean feel guilty. He’d like to see him flounder in self-hatred and culpability. Call it sadistic, he wouldn’t care. He thought of it more as vengeance. He wanted to see Dean suffer like he had.

“In freshman year,” Cas begin, averting his eyes from Dean’s penetrating gaze, “I had this necklace that I carried everywhere. It…it was my mother’s. Anna gave it to me when I was five, said she’d have wanted me to have it." He pulled the belt of his trench coat between his fingers, playing with the frayed edge, letting the emotion he'd usually bury seep into his voice. "You took it from me, and melted it down right in front of my eyes.” Castiel looked up at Dean, and stared at the middle point between the other's brows with unfaltering, dead eyes. He continued, in a dull monotone: “She died giving birth to me. I never met her, and it was the only thing any of us had of hers after my father disposed of her possessions.”

Much to his horror, Castiel could feel tears brimming behind his eyes. He looked away. It was ludicrous and illogical to miss someone you’d never met. All he’d ever seen was pictures of her. She smiled a lot, as if there was nothing at all in the world to be sad about. But that was before her youngest child had killed her. 

He didn’t wait for Dean’s response, he just stood up and left the house, slamming the door behind him. Dean could finish the damn project by himself.

* * *

“Did Castiel come over today?” Sam asked over dinner, catching John’s attention. 

“Yeah. He, uh--”

“Did you ask him?” Sam interrupted enthusiastically.

“Yes, I did. And he said you’re full of shit.” Sam’s face fell at the words. He knew what he'd seen.

“Language, Dean!” John barked.

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s lying!”

“He better damn well not be,” John said in a low voice, “I don’t want either of you associating with those kinds of people. They’re scum.”

“But, Dad, they were really cool and black an--”

John cut him off with a harsh look. An uneasy feeling rose in Dean’s stomach. Sam was pushing their dad a lot lately. Dean hoped the kid would have the damn sense to stop before it was too late. Dad had promised never to hurt Sammy – Dean intended on making him keep that promise. 

"Either way, Dean, I don't want you getting close to this boy. We don't want a repeat of last time, do we?" John threatened. 

"No, sir." Dean definitely didn't want, as John called it, a repeat of last time. The last time he was referring to was when he'd come home from work early to find Dean quickly making his way towards a homerun with Stuart Daniels. He hadn't been able to sit or walk or stand or _do anything_ without a sharp sting reminding him not to get caught making out with boys again. Dean was pretty sure his dad hadn't stopped being disgusted with him since then, which would account for the more regular beatings he received following that particular incident. Almost as if John was still trying to beat the fag out of him. 

Dinner was a quiet affair after that.

John spent the evening flicking through some old books he’d gotten from Uncle Bobby. Dean wasn’t really sure why Bobby had them, and he didn’t want to ask. Asking stupid and annoying questions was something that got him belt lickings. And the welts the leather hurt far more than the bruises from his dad's fists.

Dean pulled out his phone and slowly typed out a message. He should probably call Cas instead, but he was too much of a coward for that. He was overcome with guilt from what had happened this afternoon. And for the necklace. It was a vague memory, but it was there, and he wished he could say that it wasn’t him, that none of it had happened. Lying to Castiel would only infuriate him more, and Dean didn't exactly want to get punched again, even if he did deserve it.

_I’m really sorry about everything._

Dean drummed his fingers against the arm of the sofa, he was getting impatient. He hated waiting. When Castiel hadn’t replied by the time Sammy’s documentary on something undoubtedly boring had finished he tried again.

_I know you probably don’t believe me, and I know I’m a dick but please talk to me._

Dean groaned internally, he was aware he sounded like he was begging and the notion made him want to stab someone. Possibly himelf. Dean Winchester didn't beg. He’d never be caught dead pleading for anything, and yet here he was. It shouldn’t matter, not one bit, a single person’s hurt feelings should mean absolutely nothing to him. He couldn’t bring himself not to care, because in all honestly he understood. He tried something else. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted – needed – Castiel to understand. He'd probably never forgive him, but maybe if Cas understood how sorry Dean truly was he wouldn't hate him so much.

  
_I get it. My mom died when I was four, and if someone had done something like that to me I’d never forgive them. I never would have done it if I’d known what it meant. I know I’m an asshole but I’m not_ that _mean. It’s a lousy excuse. I'm so sorry._  


He was certain he’d never apologised so often in his life, except to his father – who hated it. John always saw grovelling was weak and if you’d done something wrong you should face the repercussions like a man. Usually that meant punishment, but this guilt was far worse. Knowing he’d have killed someone for doing the same to him, and having gone and done it to someone else. It didn’t matter that it had been nearly three years ago, he was certain the guilt would eat him alive. And he was positive that Castiel would enjoy watching him suffer for his crimes. In all honesty, he'd prefer a beating. At least that would be over quickly.

He almost leaped off the sofa when a message from Castiel popped up, but his heart sank when all it read was:

_I’m sorry about your mother_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend (Rob again) just pointed out that Mr McKenzie is shockingly like our own Biology teacher Mr McKenna - only more of a bitch. A* for my subconscious, woo!


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with Dean as much from now on. He’d received a series of text messages, all of which remained unanswered, over the weekend but by about halfway through Sunday it seemed that Dean had gotten the message. Now he’d only have to put up with him during English, and they’d practically finished their project so hopefully that meant that Cas could go back to ignoring and hating him – it was so much easier than trying to like him.

But still, Cas wasn’t stupid enough to miss the gazes full of…something – was it pity? Guilt? He hoped it was the latter – throughout Calculus in first period. He hated having Dean’s eyes on him, boring into the back of his skull like a laser begging to be noticed. That was ludicrous, of course. Dean didn’t have laser vision. And Cas was successfully managing to ignore him. All was going reasonably well, or rather it was until French. 

It appeared that Castiel was the only one in the class who understood Monsieur Cousteau’s instruction of _find someone else in the class and work in pairs on your speaking_. The rest of the students just stared at him blankly until he repeated the order in a language they understood. And before Castiel could do anything about it, or move to find someone whose throat he didn't want to rip out with his teeth, Dean Winchester was sat beside him.

“Que veux tu?” said Castiel petulantly. Dean respond by opening and closing his mouth a few times, appearing rather like a goldfish, whilst he tried to figure out either what Castiel had just said or how to reply to it. It wasn’t a difficult question, just a simple _what do you want?_. Cas didn’t bother with any false pleasantries, because he didn’t care for Dean’s precious feelings anymore. He was angry. Not at the fact that Dean had slept with his sister or melted his necklace, just at his general existence. More than anything, he wanted Dean to suffer a little bit. It wouldn’t be long until he lost interest and gave up on Castiel all together, so he might as well have some fun while it lasted. Right now, to Castiel, fun meant watching him writhe for a little while. 

“Je voudrais…être votre…erm, épouse?” Dean said hesitantly, a shy smile playing on his lips. Castiel sighed.

“You just said you’d like to be my wife,” said Castiel, devoid of any emotion. Dean laughed uneasily.

“Yeah, I’m not very good at French.”

“I can see that.”

There was silence, and it was far from content. Dean ran a hand through his hair, he should apologise some more, but now that he was face to face with Castiel he was finding it very difficult to form the words in his mouth. Talking over text, even by phone was easy because he could pretend there was nobody there – he’d thought over what he was going to say several times, and perfected his speech to a tee. He despised the very thought of someone hating him, and for some reason unbeknownst to him that notion was made all the worse by the fact that it was Castiel.

“Je suis très désolé,” he mumbled. It was a pathetic attempt, he knew that much, and he was pretty sure he’d managed to get the pronunciation wrong. Castiel’s emotionless gaze was unfaltering; it tore right through him, completely unseeing and apathetic. A few moments later Castiel shrugged. Dean dropped his eyes. What else could he do? Usually when he fucked up all he had to do was apologise, maybe take a beating or two if it was his father he’d pissed off, and then he was forgiven for a while. This was so much more difficult. Cas was just so stubborn, so damn…

 _No,_ Dean thought. This was his own mess, why should Castiel have to help him pick up the pieces? It was his own stupid fault he was so bloody careless. He knew he was a complete dick, but usually that didn't matter. Cas had been the first person to see through the bullshit and not care less about the Dean everybody else saw.

The rest of the lesson was spent in excruciating silence, and when the bell rang to signalise lunch time Castiel was gone in a flurry before he, Dean, could even raise his head. He sighed. He trudged his way out to the quadrangle and instinctively glanced over to the corner, Castiel wasn’t there. For some reason that disappointed him. His friends were surrounding their usual table and laughing about something probably completely trivial and unsatisfying.

“Dean! You have to see this!” Kara yelled, despite the fact she was less than three feet away from him. He plastered his normal arrogant smirk on his face and slid onto the table top next to her. 

“My little sister just sent me this! She got it off one of her friends, I think…” Kara giggled. That in itself was strange. Kara never giggled. He gave her a second glance, she looked positively devilish. That was the face that she wore when she was about to wreak havoc. It was something both she and Meg Masters enjoyed, a hobby if you will. They often skipped through fields together plotting world domination and the downfall of whoever had taken their fancy that particular day.

She shoved her phone into his face, and it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the close proximity. His mouth dropped open. He couldn’t believe what he saw there. It was a photograph, slightly blurred because of the distance it was taken from, but it was clear. And it was Castiel. He recognised that it had been taken from the back of the coffee shop, just as Sam had said. One of his friends must have gotten a picture before they’d been noticed.

Dean saw them clear as day, the pair of black wings that sprouted from his naked back. The angle was awkward and the quality poor, but anyone could draw a clear assumption from it. Castiel Novak was winged.

Kara giggled like the Devil on crack again. “I’ve already sent it to everyone! You should have one, too.” _No, no, no._ That couldn’t be good. What if the whole school found out? Of course they would, and Castiel’s life would be effectively ruined. It sounded pathetic and overly dramatic to say that because of high school gossip but it was true – winged people just weren’t very well liked around here – or anywhere really. Being winged made you an outcast - something frightening and different, and people tended to forget you were a person.

Dean felt a twinge of betrayal when he realised that this meant Castiel had lied to him. He knew it was only rational, they barely knew each other and it made sense that Cas wouldn’t trust him with a secret like that. Dean was friends with the school’s two biggest bitches, and was the King himself. If he so wished, he could tell everyone everything and tear it all apart himself. He liked to think he wasn't so much of a dick as to go that far.

It had happened anyway, despite Castiel’s precautions, and all because of a single fuzzy photo that happened to fall into the hands of Kara James’ bitch of a little sister. Dean had met the girl, and he was certain she was a demon. Or Satan. Maybe a witch.

Dean dug out his phone, and sure enough he had a picture message from Kara. It had been sent little over forty minutes ago, which meant that almost everyone would have seen it by now. _Cas,_ Dean thought. He had to find Castiel. It didn’t matter if he hated him, or blamed this mess on him. Castiel hadn’t wanted this to get out, that much was obvious by the fact that he’d lied about it. Well, Dean couldn’t stop it getting out now, but he could do something. Castiel couldn’t suffer this alone, he needed a friend. And a friend who happened to have a good amount of control over the population of Lakeside High might come in handy in the near future.

* * *

He trembled; he could feel himself shaking more than he’d even shaken before. He could taste the bitter flavour of blood on his tongue – he must have bitten into it – or maybe it was just bile. They knew, everybody knew. How had they found out? He had no clue, but the people who he was pretty certain he'd never even seen before were surrounding him and yelling profanities. They knew, they knew, _how did they know!?_ They were tormenting him. They’d never stop. Why should they? Everything they were saying was correct. He was filth, nothing, worthless. Vasen. His nose scrunched at the use of the word. He wasn’t sure how many people there were, but he thought it must have been thousands, maybe even tens of thousands or millions. Everybody in the world knew his secret, the one he’d tried so hard to protect, and they were never going to stop. They were crowding him. He hated being crowded. He squeezed his eyes shut and sank to the floor in one of the far corners of the hallway, his nails scratching violently at the skin beneath his shirt until he could feel a tiny trace of hot blood trickle along his fingertips. The part of his brain that remained logical throughout the ordeal screamed that this was a terrible plan, letting yourself get backed into a corner was always a bad idea because it meant little possibilities by means of escape. He’d just have to wait it out until they got bored. But they never would. And he’d never escape. A horrible image of him rotting here, dying, a skeleton left in the halls of a boy who was less than nothing plagued his mind. He wondered what stories future generations would tell each other about him. They wouldn’t even know his name, they’d just know that he was a _disgusting little vasen_ who had deserved to die. He didn’t want to die.

But maybe he should. It would probably be the most polite thing to do. _Vasen, vasen, vasen. Nobody needs people like you, so just quit it and kill yourself._ He’d thrown the thought around a couple of times before, but never had he seriously considered it. He couldn’t live like this, though. And killing himself would at least make his last act selfless, everyone else would be better off without him. Gabriel would have no more money worries and none of these people would ever have to deal with impurities like him anymore. When it had been a secret at least he had a chance of attempting to be normal, he had prospects for the future. The chance for a life. Now what did he have? Pain. Shame. Wings. 

Those damn wings. He wanted them gone. He longed more than anything to have the strength to rip his feathers out of the skin, tear the muscle and sinew to shreds and saw off the bones that kept them there. He’d said as much to Anna once before when he was eleven. He was tired of being different so Anna stroked his feathers and sang a song. If he thought hard he could still remember the words.

_Fly high, little bird, fly high_

_Remember how it feels when you touch the sky._

_Spread your wings, don't cry._

_Fly high, little bird, fly high._

Anna said that it was one of her earliest memories, that song. Their mother grooming her wings and singing to herself with a belly full of the child that would kill her. Sometimes he heard Gabriel humming the tune. Maybe she’d sung it a lot. It was a lullaby, one she’d probably sang to all her children. Except him, and whose fault was that? It didn’t calm him like it should have, it just made him sad. Whenever Anna had sung it to him she’d told him to imagine it was her, their mother, but he’d never been able to. After all, he didn’t even know what her voice sounded like. He wished he did, he wished she could still be alive to stroke his wings and sing him to sleep. It was childish and pitiful, but maybe it would help.

He didn’t think he’d ever sleep again anyway, but whether that would be due to insomnia or his imminent Death by Bullies he wasn’t quite sure. Maybe he did want to die after all, it’d save everyone a lot of trouble if he did. He hoped this lot would kill him quickly. It’d been a while since he’d had a panic attack, and he’d managed to convince himself it wouldn’t happen again. Not fully fledged like this, anyway. It’d been so long he thought he might be recovering. From what? He couldn’t recover, he was broken and always had been. His panic attacks, when they were bad at least, always made him feel like death was watching him – a white figure in a black cloak just staring at him from somewhere he couldn’t see. At least if he was focussing on the not-really-there reaper he wasn’t thinking about whatever it was that was causing him to panic. What was it this time? Oh yeah, everyone knew his secret and now they were going to kill him. The walls of human teenager were closing in around him. They were loud; chanting something. He couldn’t make out the words properly but they were drowning out the lyrics he was trying to repeat in his head.

_

Fly high, little bird, fly high

_

“Hey!” a voice called, he flinched instinctively. He didn’t know who the voice belonged to, nor did it drag him back to reality like it should have done, it just scared him. It wouldn't be long before they started hurting him. Everyone liked hurting vasens. “Fuck off, the lot of you.” The walls disappeared almost instantly and Castiel distantly felt himself either spinning or keening over. He wasn’t quite sure which. He didn’t hit the linoleum, though, instead he found himself encased in a pair of strong arms. He was trapped, and now he was going to die. At least the walls were gone now. He heard the distant sound of the voice talking to him, but he ignored it. Instead he chose to remain in his headspace while he could until the voice got bored of him and left. Hopefully that wouldn’t take too long, people tended to tire of him quickly. He liked it in his headspace, theoretically nobody could hurt him there, but he recognised the distinct disadvantages. Like, if a gigantic Grizzly walked into the school and started tearing apart students he wouldn’t even notice. He hoped there weren’t any bears in Kansas. He made a mental note to Google it later, if he survived that was.

* * *

Dean’s heart had risen into his throat when he’d seen the crowd of people in the hallway, and he knew by the words they were screaming and the low, constant mewling sound – rather like the disjointed tune of a song - that seeped between them into the surrounding area that it was Castiel. It hadn’t been difficult getting them all to disappear; everyone did what he said if they didn’t want to get the shit beaten out of them. Wilson might have been particularly strong on the _destroy all winged people_ front (as well as being part of the threatening crowd) but he knew where his bread was buttered; it wasn't his Principal father who kept him on top, it was Dean.

A broken sound – it reminded Dean of a wounded animal – escaped Castiel’s throat as he collapsed, as if it were possible from a sitting (or rather cowering) position. He’d just managed to catch the boy before he hit the tiled ground. Castiel obviously didn’t like the contact because he kept thrashing and was still trembling with fear, murmuring something about bears and dying. It was almost as if he was trapped within his mind, alone with his invisible fears and in a blind state of -- Dean realised with a start that he was having a panic attack – he didn’t know much about them except that it wasn’t exactly good, but he was almost certain it wasn't life threatening as long as Castiel didn't go into shock. Oh God, what if he went into shock? Dean took a deep breath to steady himself, he couldn't be of any use if he was panicking right along with him. All he could do was see Cas through it.

He altered his position, sitting on the floor with his back to the lockers, and pulled Castiel across his lap. He placed an awkward hand on the boy’s back - noticing that it felt strange and slightly uneven beneath his layers, that'd be the wings, then - supporting him so that he didn’t fall, and dropped the other across Cas' legs. Castiel fell against his shoulder, burying his head deep inside the curve of Dean’s neck, and Dean shivered at the noises he was making. They weren’t quite sobs, just tearless wails of an emotion Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to identify. Something far worse than grief or terror. Some bizarre mixture of the two combined with an earth-shattering feeling. Helplessness, perhaps? Or maybe that was a bit melodramatic.

But what could he do? He wasn’t good at feelings and stuff so he mainly tried to stay away from that topic as much as possible, and he felt powerless because of it. His friend – acquaintance – was suffering, crying (or something) in his arms, and he had no idea what to do. He held Castiel as still as possible and mumbled reassurances. There were no Grizzly bears anywhere, nobody was going to hurt him, he was perfectly safe, and there wasn't a single creepy man dressed in black anywhere in sight. And no, he wasn’t going to die anytime soon if Dean had anything to do with it.

Eventually, Castiel’s barrier broke, and Dean saw his glassy eyes slowly drift back into awareness. He’d been incessantly shuddering with panic, but suddenly he was still. That was, aside from the slight quaking of his shoulders and the tremor in his chest as he began sobbing in earnest and clinging onto Dean’s shirt like a lifeline. Dean took this as a good sign and wrapped his arms around Castiel, pulling him closer against his chest and resting his cheek against the matted dark hair.

Neither of them said anything; Castiel cried and Dean awkwardly comforted. He wasn’t sure how welcome his efforts were, but his face wasn’t being clawed off so he assumed his presence wasn’t entirely detested to say the least. Not knowing what else to do, he dug around in the pocket of Castiel’s trench coat until he found the boy’s phone. There were only a handful of contacts in there: Anna, Boss, Dean, Gabriel, Inias, Luci, Michael, Mrs Glaston, Rachel and Tay. He had no idea who to call, so he tackled it logically by process of elimination. Tay was the girl who worked at the coffee shop, she wouldn’t be much use now. Besides, a conversation with her would be nothing short of uncomfortable following their, um, get together a few months ago. Similarly, he didn’t want to call Anna and either way he was pretty sure she was away at university now and wouldn't be of much assistance. Mrs Glaston was the woman who worked at the newsagents – Cas delivered the papers for her every weekday morning. The same with Boss, calling anybody from Castiel’s various places of work would be nothing short of useless. He concluded that Gabriel would be the one to call, since he was pretty sure that that was the older brother Castiel lived with – the one with the golden wings. He’d seen him around a few times, he’d probably be the best bet.

“Cas?” Gabriel said upon answering the phone on its first ring. Castiel never called him, something must be wrong.

“Hi, erm, is that Gabriel?” Dean said inelegantly.

“Yeah, who is this?” came the wary reply. 

“It’s Dean. I’m, err, Cas’ friend. I-I think he had a panic attack.” Dean glanced down at Castiel. His sobs were quieter now, muffled within Dean’s shirt. He doubted Gabriel would be able to hear them down the phone.

“Is he at school? What happened?”

“Everyone found out,” Dean said quietly, “About his wings, I mean.”

“Shit. I’ll come pick him up.” Dean couldn’t get another word in before the line went dead. Flipping the phone shut and returning it to the pocket he’d found it in, he turned to Castiel.

“Cas?” he said as softly as he could muster. “Are you okay?” Castiel didn’t respond, but his cries were beginning to ebb slightly. “Your brother’s gonna come get you, okay? Everything’s gonna be alright,” Dean said without much conviction, unwilling to make a promise he couldn’t keep.

He tried to get Castiel to his feet without much luck and resorted to half carrying, half dragging him to the school office. He explained what had happened to the old woman behind the desk (not about his wings, just that he'd had a panic attack) whose name he didn't know, and gracelessly dropped Castiel on one of the chairs before taking a seat by his side. The woman was nice; she nodded sympathetically and went to sign some authorised absence papers.

Castiel didn’t say anything, he just stared straight ahead with dead eyes that still leaked silent tears. Dean didn’t know what to say, what could he do to make this better? He could talk, he knew Castiel could hear him now but he doubted he’d get a response. It didn’t look like Castiel wanted to talk, or even remember that any of this had happened. Instead, they sat in silence. Occasionally Cas would let out a hitched breath or a cough and Dean’s head snapped in his direction, wondering if he was about to start crying again, and silently hoping he wouldn't. He didn't know how to deal with crying people. The only other person he'd ever seen cry was Sammy.

Once again Dean found himself wondering why he was here. Every logical part of his mind told him that he shouldn’t care about Castiel, but yet he found himself seeking his approval, or simply just his presence. There were certain things that Cas would probably never forgive him for but maybe they could work past that? He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted them to be friends. Castiel needed a friend. And he did, too. Who did he really have aside from his army of followers? Jo, he supposed. She was the only person he really trusted aside from Sam. Why did he trust Castiel? Why did he want Castiel to trust him? None of it made a lick of sense.

He didn’t have much longer to ponder because Gabriel burst through the office doors with his wings held high on his back, reflecting the light with every movement. He was short in stature and seemed about as harmless as a man could get, but his wings made him look like an avenging angel. Dean suspected he was far more threatening than he appeared to be - he definitely wouldn’t want to cross paths with him in a dark alley, and that was saying something. There were very few people Dean was scared of – he made a mental note to add Gabriel Novak to that list. 

“Cas!” Gabriel breathed, abruptly pulling Castiel into his arms and wrapping his wings around him in a protective cocoon. Dean was slightly shocked to see Cas return the hug. Not knowing what to do, he stood back and chewed on the inside of his cheek until Gabriel turned to him, Castiel still hidden safely inside the crook of his wings.

“Thanks,” he said with a genuine smile. “It’s nice to know someone’s looking out for him.”

Dean watched as they made their way out of the school’s office and walked across parking lot and out of the gates, Castiel leaning into the comfort of Gabriel’s feathers. They looked soft. He wondered what Cas’ looked like. He knew they were black, he’d seen as much in the photo. He caught himself walking late into English thinking about what the dark feathers would feel like between his fingers…

* * *

Castiel didn’t go to work on Monday evening, or leave the house at all Tuesday. Gabriel did his paper round for him after receiving a bit of trouble from Mrs Glaston. He said she'd givem him a funny look and was reluctant to let him deliver papers. As if he was under qualified or too disgusting to be allowed to touch her precious collection of world events that would eventually be nothing more than rabbit bedding. She gave up after a while, though, figuring that the money was going to the same family and she wasn’t exactly going to do it herself, was she? Besides, she decided that Gabe was nice enough despite his…ailment.

Gabriel had decided it would be unwise to break her legs at that comment. He didn’t want Castiel to lose his job or anything. 

Getting home had been easy enough after Gabriel had gotten Castiel at school, but what followed wasn’t so simple. Cas didn’t move or speak, he just sat in his bedroom staring at the wall. He hadn’t noticed Gabriel trying to change his clothes, but before he knew it he was naked from the waist up – Gabe obviously having given up halfway through the process, Cas didn't blame him – and his brother was quietly humming whilst he groomed Castiel’s wings. Gabe had tried to get him to talk, but he didn’t. Anna had called, he ignored the ringing. Dean had called, and again he ignored it. He didn’t want to speak to anybody. He wanted to fade away, slowly and unnoticed.

He spent Tuesday drifting in and out of awareness, trying to ignore the aching feeling of emptiness in his gut that he was sure wasn't hunger. He even ate something at about midday for the first time since yesterday morning, and migrated from the dim light of his bedroom to the comfort of the living room. His phone rang again, and this time he stared at it like it would burn him if he touched it. It was something, at least he acknowledged it this time. In the end it was Gabriel who picked it up and chatted to the person on the other line with a voice that Castiel knew was laced with fake happiness. Gabriel was good at that. He should probably ask him how he did it.

“Dean’s coming over later,” Gabriel informed him. “I don’t know what you want to do, but you might want to put something on.”

He was still in the jeans he’d worn yesterday, his top half was still bare save for the blanket Gabriel had wrapped around him at some point. He nodded distantly and didn’t move until a piece of material landed in his lap. He picked up the shirt – baggy, with no holes or loose neck for his wings to poke out of – and pulled it over his head, not bothering to bind his wings beneath him. As long as he kept them flat against his back Dean wouldn’t be able to notice. Not that it particularly mattered anymore anyway.

He didn’t question why Dean was coming over, nor did he remember the hatred he’d felt towards the boy just the day before. He wasn’t sure he could really feel anything anymore. Gabriel had spoken to Dr Miller, and told him that the emptiness should pass within a few days and that his brain was just accommodating for the shock. In fact, he already felt far less robotic and had regained a good amount of muscle control by the time Dean walked through the doorway into the living room and sat on the ottoman opposite him. Castiel ignored him at first, pulling his legs close to his chest and hiding his face behind his knees. The fact that Dean had witnessed his meltdown the previous day was nothing short of embarrassing, and he really hoped he wasn’t here to ask how he was like some overpriced therapist. Or Dr Miller.

“How’re you doing?” Dean asked, scratching his ear. Other than that small display of insecurity he tried his best to keep his gaze level, again reminding Cas of a therapist. He hated that. It was a few moments before Castiel realised he should probably respond. Whether he liked it or not, Dean had treated him kindly and it would be nothing short of rude to not give him the respect he deserved. He didn’t say anything, he just chewed on his lip and nodded, looking through the figure opposite him. 

“You wanna…talk?” said Dean apprehensively. Castiel shook his head. Dean nodded understandingly. Then it was silent. Castiel listened, he couldn’t hear any other movements in the house and faintly remembered Gabe saying something about heading out a while ago. How could Dean have gotten in without a key if Gabriel wasn’t here? Maybe he’d left afterwards? Cas wasn’t sure, he was a bit out of it at the moment.

“Thanks,” he said hoarsely. It had been a while since he’d spoken a word to anybody. “It was…kind of you to come.”

“Hey, I told you I’m not a complete asshole,” Dean laughed, lightly tapping Cas’ ankle – being the only body part that was in reach – as he did so. Castiel stiffened. Dean’s smile dropped. “Sorry, man, I forgot--”

Castiel shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t be so rude,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the fluffy sofa cushions.

“You can’t help it, I get it,” Dean said, sending him half a crooked smile. “It’s not your fault,” he continued sincerely when Castiel looked like he was about to start arguing.

“You’re right,” Cas said after a moment. Dean looked shocked, he hadn’t expected to get through to him so easily. “You’re not a complete asshole.” Dean let out a sigh and shook his head, a coy smile playing on his full lips. Cas chuckled.

“Just when I thought I was winning.” 

“You don’t get to win.” Castiel shrugged, still smiling. _That’s good,_ Dean thought, _he’s smiling so it’s worth it._ And…if he didn’t know better he’d say Cas was blushing, too, just a little bit. It was… _cute_ , Dean decided. In a completely platonic way. Yeah, so maybe he’d thought guys were hot before and enjoyed shagging them every so often, but he’d never felt his insides swell with something close to adulation when they smiled. Then again, he’d never had that feeling with girls either. Maybe it was just something about Castiel that changed him. He _wanted_ Cas to like him, to enjoy his company just as much as he did. His old desire to be worshipped by everyone was withering away, because none of that mattered if Castiel hated him. He wanted to stop being a doucebag and become a better person who didn’t destroy family heirlooms and sleep with people’s sisters. He wanted to be good. He wanted Castiel to think he was good.

“Are we friends?” Cas asked after a moment, dragging Dean out of his reverie. He snapped his eyes up to meet Castiel’s own set of blue ones – Cas was staring through him rather than at him, but he was no longer avoiding eye contact which was an improvement. It took Dean a moment to realise he’d been asked a question. Questions needed answers, he thought dumbly. 

“Yeah,” he said, choking on the saliva which had suddenly built up in his mouth. Well, that was embarrassing. Cas dropped his eyes and smiled again. And, damn, if that wasn’t the most adorable thing he’d ever seen then Dean would gladly jump off a bridge.

“I’ve never had a friend before,” Castiel said indifferently.

“What, never?” Dean said, shocked. He couldn’t imagine why. Sure, Cas was blunt and came across harshly sometimes but his honesty, intelligence and general vibe of goodness far outweighed that. Dean couldn’t be the only one who’d ever felt drawn in by his expressive blue eyes.

Castiel shook his head. “Nobody who isn’t family. And not even all of them.” Cas thought absentmindedly about the members of his family who’d never had time for him. Michael had always seen him as a burden. His father had hated the sight of him. Luci had been decent, but in all honesty she creeped him out a little bit. Rachel and Inias kept to themselves mainly, so the only family members who’d ever really looked out for him were Anna and Gabriel.

“What about Tay, that girl at the coffee shop?”

“She feels sorry for me because I have no friends,” he said, not seeming too bothered by that simple statement of fact. Tay was sweet, he might even consider her the closest thing he had to a friend outside of his family – and now, apparently, Dean – but she’d never once called or texted him, or even acknowledged him outside of work. She understood him, and always said she considered herself his friend but when it really came down to it she’d never give him a second glance. He was nothing to her, just like he was to everybody else.

“Oh. Well, uh, you have me,” Dean said awkwardly. Cas smiled and nodded again. “Do you trust me?” 

Cas chewed on his lip. “Usually when people say something like that they’re about to test faith that I do not have.” He thought for a second about how, in all those movies and sitcoms, a character always seemed to ask another that very same question before he dragged the other into doing something incredibly stupid.

“No, no. I just mean…” Dean mumbled. “I trust you, if that helps at all.”

“Thank you.”

“Why did you lie?” Dean asked timorously, and instantly regretted it. Cas’ eyes shot open, widening to three times their usual size. Castiel was honest, and Dean was sure he’d never once lied when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. “About your wings. I don’t…” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “I know you had no reason to trust me because, yeah, I’m a jerk but I just--”

“You’re not a jerk, Dean,” Castiel said simply. “I have always been…unnecessarily paranoid, but I have nothing to hide anymore.” Dean dropped his gaze to the floor, Cas sounded sad and distant. He didn’t want Cas to trust him because everybody knew everything about him anyway and he had nothing to lose anymore; he wanted him to trust him because…just because. 

“Can I…can I see them?” 

Cas stiffened and twitched. “You really want to?” he said nervously. 

Dean nodded.

“I don’t…um.”

“You’ve never shown them to anyone before, have you?”

Castiel shook his head and chewed on his thumbnail. Dean thought for a second.

“How about we make a deal? You can ask me anything, anything at all, and I’ll tell you.”

“Like…swapping secrets?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said. It sounded awfully like they were preteen girls confessing crushes when Cas said it that way but he figured that was exactly what it was. If he wanted Castiel to trust him completely, he had to show him that that feeling was reciprocated. It didn’t matter what Cas asked him, he’d answer it honestly. He couldn't think of a single thing he would hide right now, even if he'd probably regret it later.

“Where did you get those bruises?” 

_Ah._ Dean swallowed. He guessed he should have seen that one coming. It wasn’t like he did a particularly good job at hiding some of the more obvious ones like those which peppered his face on occasion. He looked up, Cas was staring at him with expectant eyes. He couldn’t really call it eye contact, since he was pretty sure Castiel was looking at his eyebrows, but it was close enough. Baby steps.

“My dad, he – uh. He…gets mad sometimes, and, erm--”

“He beats you.” Castiel said so calmly and quietly he couldn't really be sure he'd even heard it - those were the words he'd never been able to admit to himself. When put like that, it sounded far more grim than it was. He glanced over, Castiel had a look of horrified realisation on his face, as if he were chastising himself for having not noticed the obvious sooner.

“N-no! It’s not like that, more, um. It’s complicated.”

“He strikes you in anger,” Cas said flatly, coming to his conclusions. Dean wished he wouldn't do that, even if his conclusions were about as close as he could get to being correct. “I fail to see what’s so complicated about that.”

“You make it sound so…wrong. It’s my own fault for pissing him off, it’s not like I don’t deserve it anyway.”

“Why are you making excuses for him?”

“I’m not making excuses, I’m just telling you how it is.”

“How often does he hit you?” 

“Only when I screw up, look--”

“That must be awful.” Castiel was shocked at himself. This must be the closest he’d ever gotten to any form of empathy. But, for some reason, it made sense to him. He knew how he’d felt when his own father had looked at him with disgust. He was glad he’d never found out what it felt like to be beaten and bruised by that same man and tricked into believing it was his own fault. He’d spent so much time worrying about himself and his stupid secret, that he’d never thought to notice what was right in front of him. The watery eyes when Dean had answered the door last week, the way he didn’t fight back when Cas punched him, in fact everything about him screamed _victim of domestic violence._ Castiel vaguely remembered reading something about Stockholm Syndrome – where a victim (usually of kidnapping but he felt it could transfer nicely to this situation) felt only feelings of love and trust towards those who had harmed them. 

“It’s not so bad.”

“Show me,” Cas said. Dean blanched.

“W-what?”

“Consider it an exchange. I’ll let you see my wings if you show me your bruises. I don’t doubt the rest of them are far worse than what I’ve seen already.”

Dean blinked twice. “Like…I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” he said, smiling slightly. Cas nodded, obviously missing the innuendo. 

Dean stood up – he couldn’t believe he was about to do this – and shrugged out of his plaid shirt and pulled his t-shirt over his head. He was shirtless in Castiel’s house. That was way hotter than it should have been. Y’know, platonically. Or something. He heard Castiel’s intake of breath and glanced down at his torso. He didn’t think they looked too bad today. He had some yellowish bruises across his chest, and a couple on his stomach. He knew he had a massive purple bruise covering all of his left side from yesterday. And the belt lacerations, he knew they probably looked awful. The belt was the worst, he knew he’d really pissed his dad off when the belt came out – the welts and cuts covered his back and crisscrossed each other. 

“That must be painful,” Castiel said sadly. Dean shrugged and sat down beside him while Castiel inspected his body. He felt horribly exposed, nobody had ever seen his bruises before. Not even Sammy. He had some inkling, of course, Sam was a smart kid and he wasn’t always fast asleep when he heard (or saw, on occasion) what had been going on. He’d never say anything, though. He had enough common sense to know that if his dad ever discovered that Dean had let him find out about this, his older brother would probably suffer more than just bruises.

Dean shuffled, turning so that he was facing Castiel at a better angle, leaning against the arm of the sofa.

“Your turn,” Dean said with a wry smile. Cas drew in a shaky breath. “Or-or if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“No, we had a deal,” Castiel said, smiling half-heartedly. He pushed the blanket off from around his shoulders and took a deep breath before taking his shirt off. He wished he could be as secure with himself as Dean was, even covered in so many marks (he wondered for a moment how the many men and women he'd had sex with hadn't noticed any of this before, since he was pretty sure that doing _that_ involved a certain degree of nakedness), but he couldn’t, and his wings remained cowering close to his back and he crossed his arms over his chest to conserve some of his modesty.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean said softly, leaning closer to him. Upon hearing the gentle encouragement, Castiel unfurled his wings completely and flapped them twice, not once risking a glance in Dean’s direction. His feathers stood on end, and his muscles trembled at being on show like this. What if Dean thought they were disgusting? He didn’t want Dean to hate what was as much a part of him as his other limbs. 

“Wow,” Dean whispered.

“I know," Cas said quietly, "they make me look like a freak."

“I think they make you look like an angel,” said Dean. It took all of his will power not to start spilling his guts about how God damn awesome those wings were. They were bigger than he'd expected, and he wondered for a moment how Cas managed to keep them folded so compactly into his back. Upon looking at them, Dean realised they weren't black at all, but rather a mix of colours, mainly a dark shade of midnight blue. Each strand of hair on each birdlike feather was a different shade of purple or blue or green that ricocheted light in multiple directions. Dean was positive that they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. “All you’re missing is a halo.” 

Cas chuckled nervously.

"Seriously, Cas," Dean said solemnly, "anyone gives you shit about them I'll kick their ass. That's a promise."

"People are always going to be like that, though, there's not a lot you can do," Cas replied, down-casting his eyes. It was a commonly known fact of life, if you had wings then you were discriminated against. It didn't matter what the laws were, because it all happened anyway. He'd never gotten much of it himself, but he'd witnessed the abuse that his brothers and sisters had all received. What he'd gotten so far paled in comparison.

"I'll just have to protect you then," Dean whispered.

Slowly, Dean leaned closer to him, outstretching a hand very slowly and tentatively, all the while gauging Castiel’s reaction. Cas wasn’t looking in Dean’s direction, but he could feel his approach. Dean was going to touch his wings. Hopefully he wouldn’t yank out any of his feathers because that would hurt like a bitch and in all honesty he could really do without that right now. But Dean's touch was light and gentle when it met Cas' wings.

Castiel let out an involuntary moan when Dean’s calloused fingers entwined within his delicate feathers. His wings had never been touched like this before. In fact, the only other people who had even laid a finger on his wings aside from himself were members of his family, and even then it was rarely for anything but grooming. This…this was different. This was far more – intimate. He swore he could feel a buzzing in the air around them, and he leaned ever so slightly into the touch where Dean was massaging his feathers in small circular motions.

“You like that?” Dean said, chuckling to himself. He’d never expected this kind of reaction. If anything he'd highly doubted that Cas would let him touch them in the first place. And yet, here they were. Dean twisted his fingers deeper inside the feathers, his touch balancing on the fine line between rough and gentle. Castiel let another moan escape from his lips as his eyes fluttered shut. “God, you do,” Dean whispered, sliding closer to Cas and massaging his fingers against the soft feathers some more. Seeing Cas like this turned him on more than he cared to admit. And that definitely wasn't the reason he came here. For the most part anyway, his intentions had been nothing but pure.

“They’re just…j-just sensitive. S’all. I’ve never…nobody’s….” Castiel trailed off, no longer caring about whatever he was trying to say. The feel of Dean’s fingers buried inside his wings made it difficult for him to think, let alone form coherent sentences.

One of Dean’s hands left his wings and found its way to Cas’ cheek, lightly turning his relaxed face in Dean’s direction. His eyes flickered open and Dean's face was closer than before, his eyes shut as he slowly leaned in to – _NO! Dean was going to…_ No! 

He couldn't help the panic that shot through him in that instant, and Castiel beat his wings more violently then he intended to, dislodging Dean’s tender grip on them and jumping out of his skin across to the other side of the sofa. He pretended not to see the flash of hurt and rejection in Dean’s eyes. Oh God, what had he done? He was such an idiot.

“Dean, I--” he began, but found the words caught in his throat. What on Earth could he possibly say? _Sorry, I’m incapable of normal human interaction but if you stick around for another ten years maybe we could go as far as holding hands without me flipping out. All in due time, my friend. But no promises._ It’d had been going so well. The mere fact that he’d let someone touch him, his wings no less, was a something that would have made Dr Miller jump about and scream excitedly about what wonderful progress he’d been making. And he hadn’t even been trying. He’d been lost in the touch…just like his headspace and yet entirely different at the same time.

“Forget it,” Dean said harshly, standing up and pulling his t-shirt back over his head, quickly followed by the plaid button down shirt he’d been wearing. “See you around,” he said indifferently before heading towards the door.

Castiel knew this was his fault, but maybe it was for the better. Dean had been about to…had he been about to? Cas wasn’t really sure, but the prospect of it scared the shit out of him. He knew about Dean’s reputation - _love ‘em and leave ‘em_ \- and he knew the chances of him being no more than another chess piece Dean wanted to collect were high. But that didn’t seem right. If Dean had been looking for nothing more than a quick shag, then why would he come to Castiel? Maybe for a challenge, he supposed. It seemed like a pathetic excuse. Every bone in his body was telling him that Dean was being serious, and more honest than he'd possibly been in a long time. It made absolutely no sense, however Cas still didn’t doubt that it was the truth for a second. _Dammit._

“Dean!” Cas called. But it was too late; Dean was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how the bit with the panic attack came across because I literally had no idea how to write that. I read that when people have a really bad panic attack they kind of lose part of their logical mind and get this feeling of imminent death, so instead of focussing on the panic per se I concentrated more on that. Hopefully it wasn't a total loss.


	8. Chapter 8

Over the passing weeks Castiel slowly managed to get back on his feet. It was a week after _the incident_ that he finally convinced himself it would be unwise to stay at home all day. Absence only made gossip grow stronger...or something like that. At the very least his grades would suffer for it. He didn’t know what he’d gotten on his and Dean's English project, nor did he particularly care. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, even Mrs Harrow, to find out. He dreaded to think what she'd say to him - probably start skipping around and throwing fairy dust as praise for using her beloved pipe cleaners.

He’d gone back to work too, and Boss had been surprisingly nice about it. When he’d been called into Boss’ office (far too swanky for the back of a coffee shop) his heart had dropped to the soles of his feet, and he’d been sure he was about to get fired. He could have screamed and shouted about how it was unfair and against the Discrimination Law, but it wasn’t in Boss’ interest to have integrity or any moral compass when his business would suffer because of Castiel’s wings. Besides, nobody took that law seriously - Gabriel was proof of that. The solution would be simple, fire the problem. But that hadn’t happened, Boss had sat him down and told him it was alright – he could keep working here – on the condition that he kept his wings covered, for Castiel’s own safety if nothing else. Having one’s wings out in public made him an easy target, and they didn’t want that. Cas was pretty sure that wasn’t the reason he wanted those wings covered, but it was nice of him to come up with such a pretence rather than stating it was because they disgusted him and the customers. It was then that Castiel decided he liked Boss, he was fairer than any other employer he had ever come across.

If Castiel was nervous about one thing regarding going back to school it was seeing Dean Winchester. He wanted to talk to him, to ask him what on Earth had happened last week, but he doubted Dean would even give him the time of day. Besides, it couldn’t have been what he thought it was. That was just crazy and illogical. The idea of asking him about it filled Castiel with dread. He had several chances to speak with Dean, after all they had a few lessons together and maybe he could try to explain - it wasn't like he'd never been granted the opportunity. However, it didn’t seem like he'd have been able to anyway. Dean was cold; on the rare occasions when Cas glanced in the other boy's direction he was met with harsh glares, and Castiel knew he wasn’t wanted. Maybe giving Dean a few days to cool off first would be better.

A friend, that’s what Dean had offered to be, but now he wasn’t there. Wherever Castiel went, people shouted abuse at him and it didn’t relent for a second. He built a wall around himself, a wall which people kept chipping at. It didn’t matter, they wouldn’t get through, he’d mastered the art of sealing himself off from the world. He could still hear them, and it still hurt, but if they didn’t get a response maybe they’d get bored and stop. Stupid as it was, Castiel could always hope.

It became like a game to them: who could break the winged freak? Who could make him cry first? Who could make him run home as fast as he could and never show his face again? They liked to play that game. Especially in the parking lot, the only exit to the school. He could wait it out until they left but he had to get to work, and they had the place surrounded. He couldn’t walk through it without getting harassed, try as he might.

Mostly, he just walked quickly and tried to keep his head down and remain unnoticed. However, studying the pavement while walking at top speed has its pitfalls – such as not being able to see where you’re going – and he crashed straight into a plaid covered wall of flesh.

“S-sorry,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes down.

“Watch it, vasen,” the other boy spat, easily shoving him to the ground. Cas just managed to catch himself before his face met the hard concrete, but he badly scraped his palms in doing so. He stayed there for a moment, then glanced up; he recognised that voice. Dean's. Naturally. He couldn’t help but feel horribly betrayed; Dean had said he was his friend. Friends didn’t call each other vile slurs as far as he knew. He took the use of that word as a clear indication that Dean was no longer his friend. It'd been nice while it had lasted, and it had been foolish of him to take what Dean said so seriously, but people lied. Somewhere along the line Castiel had forgotten that.

Not wasting another second looking at Dean – he looked so angry, Cas must have pissed him off more than he thought, but whether that was due to what happened last week or his general existence, he didn't know – he clambered to his feet and sprinted home as fast as he could. He couldn’t be sure if they were chasing him, nor did he want to look behind him to check. That was when people fell and got attacked by the mob in horror movies. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes, but he blinked them back. If they were following and they caught up, he couldn’t cry. He was stronger than that. Well, that was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that. He could try his best to pretend not to care when they started throwing punches.

Luckily, he got home pretty quickly, and shoved his door key into the lock, slamming it behind him when he made it inside.

“Cas?” 

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t. There was a painful lump in his throat that made it impossible to speak. Instead, he continued running until he could throw himself face down on his bed and bite his lip, willing himself not to cry again. He cried too often, he remembered his father used to hate it whenever he cried and would send him to his room for the rest of the day – he was never allowed to leave it, not even for food. It didn’t deter him, it just made him sadder.

“I called work for you, told them you’re not coming,” Gabe said, he was sat on the end of Cas’ bed with a sympathetic look in his eye. Castiel hated that, he hated being pitied. He just wasn’t strong enough, not like he should be. He shouldn’t let high school whispers (or shouts, rather) tear him apart like they did. High school was hell, it was like that for everyone, but they all managed to get through it. Why was he so incapable? “Cas, what’s wrong?”

But Dean had promised. He’d said he would keep the whispers away and protect him. Cas didn’t much like the idea of needing to be protected, but that didn’t change the fact that it was true. He couldn’t fight them himself. He hated to admit it, but he needed a friend. Dean was the closest he’d ever really come to that, despite their differences. It had been so much simpler when Dean had been his enemy and nothing more.

“Why don’t you call Anna?” Gabriel suggested, knowing Cas was more likely to talk to her than to him. “She’s really worried about you.”

Cas drew in a shaky breath, still holding the tears at bay, and shook his head. It didn’t seem to matter, though. Gabriel already had his phone in his hand and was dialling Anna’s number. While it rang, he handed it to Cas and began to peel off the younger boy’s many layers, replacing them with a baggy wide-necked shirt after freeing his wings and beginning to groom them.

“Hello?” Anna said, she sounded distant. She must have been very busy, she didn't need him there to put her off with his pathetic problems.

“Hello, Anna,” Cas said, unable to hide the tremble in his voice. He relaxed slightly at the feel of Gabriel’s gentle touch combing through his wings. 

“What’s up?” she said nonchalantly, but Cas knew. He caught it in the tone of her voice that she knew something was wrong. She was just waiting for him to spill. He didn’t want to, but he knew he would. In times like these he couldn’t help but confess everything. He’d done the same thing only a week ago after his secret had gotten out. Anna was always patient, never forcing him into saying anything but also doing just that by making him feel like she cared. Of course, she insisted that she did but that didn't make it any less true that the idea was foreign to him - besides, why should she care?

“Not a lot,” he said, trying (and failing) to keep his voice as steady as possible. “People at school…aren’t very nice.”

“What are they doing? What about your friend?”

“D-Dean? He’s…uh,” Castiel stuttered, mentally kicking himself for telling Anna about him a week ago. He’d left out the part about Dean storming out of the house during their last conversation, focussing instead on the fact that he’d come to visit. Anna liked the idea of him having a friend, so he thought he might as well indulge her in it a little bit. Even if it was Dean Winchester. She didn’t really like him, Cas had managed to gather that much when he’d first mentioned his new friend’s name. But that was for obvious reasons. Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to say Dean's name out loud. Cas was sure that was just because she felt awkward more than anything, and as far as she was aware he knew absolutely nothing about their, ahem, get together.

“He called me…erm, _vasen_ ,” Cas mumbled, the word barely audible. They’d heard, though, he was sure of it. Gabriel’s steady hand through his wings faltered, just for a second before he picked up his rhythm again.

“He, _what!?_ ” Anna screeched, “Why!?”

“I-it was my fault, r-really.”

“How in the hell was it your fault?” Anna snapped harshly. He knew she wasn’t mad at him, but that didn’t stop him flinching. Gabriel gently rubbed the small feathers at the base of his wings by his shoulder blades where the muscle was most sensitive in order to calm him.

“I…” This was it, the moment when he started spilling, “Ithinkhetriedtokissme.”

God, that was embarrassing. He hoped Anna had understood, he really didn’t want to repeat himself. It was humiliating enough already, especially with Gabriel right there.

“…And?” she said after a moment, more softly this time.

“I couldn’t,” Castiel whispered.

“So, what, he got mad?” said Anna, sounding slightly angry again.

“Yeah, he…he stormed out.”

“And he thinks that’s a justified reason to be a dick? He always was a douchebag. Kid needs to realise not everyone wants to make out with him.”

Castiel didn’t respond.

“Cas?”

“Yeah?” he said cautiously.

“You didn’t…did you want him to—Did you want to kiss him?” 

Castiel swallowed a nervous lump, at least he didn’t feel like he was going to cry anymore. He did, however, feel very self-conscious. Anna was asking him a direct question, and he was certain Gabriel could hear this entire conversation - he wasn't even a foot away. He hoped Gabe wouldn’t bring it up again later.

“I don’t…” Cas began. Did he want to kiss Dean? He hadn’t really thought about it. He didn’t really know the feeling, he’d never wanted to kiss anyone before. But Dean? Sure, Dean was handsome and not a total asshole sometimes. The idea of kissing anyone seemed slightly repulsive to him, but this was Dean, an actual person who’d claimed to be his friend and liked him for who he was. That had never happened before. Now, just thinking about the concept, sent butterflies flitting around inside his stomach. Dean had already touched him, and that had sent electric chills running through his entire body. How would it feel to have those lips against his? He didn’t know, but an achingly strong part of him wanted to find out. 

But… _kissing!_ Not for the first time, Castiel found himself very confused by his own feelings. Physical contact had always been especially perplexing for him, especially regarding people who weren’t his immediate family. Dean had already touched him, so he knew nothing bad could come of it. The prospect still scared him, though.

He wanted to, but he didn’t want to.

God, if he were normal maybe this would make more sense to him.

“I think so,” Cas admitted quietly. He heard Anna sigh on the other end of the line. Gabriel, however, showed no sign of reacting. Cas was thankful for that.

“You know about his reputation, Cas, are you sure he didn’t just want to take advantage of you?”

Castiel had considered that option, in great detail, but had decided that it wasn’t the case. If Cas had been nothing more than an easily lay to him, then why would he have told him…what he did? He could have made up a lie about fighting or…anything, really. Or simply not have confessed at all. He was Dean Winchester, whatever he said people believed. Instead, he had told Castiel the truth. For Dean, who seemed just as locked up inside his own head as Castiel was, that seemed like a pretty big deal.

“I don’t think so…he told me something.”

Telling Anna what Dean had told him seemed like betrayal. It didn’t matter that Dean’s whole family knew about his wings, because everyone knew about that now and it really wasn’t the same thing. Dean’s secret was, in fact, a secret.

“What did he tell you?”

“I…” _I don’t know if I should say._

“Cas, I’m only looking out for you. He could be completely full of bullshit.”

“His dad beats him, Anna,” Castiel said, then snapped his mouth shut. _Dammit._ He hadn’t meant to say that, it had just slipped out. Somehow Anna accusing him of lying had angered him and he’d…Jesus, he was an idiot. He needed to control himself.

“ _That’s_ what that was,” he heard Anna mumble under her breath after she’d finished drawing in her shocked gasp. Gabriel had stopped grooming his wings, his hands still firmly lodged between the feathers, considering Castiel’s words.

“No, I didn’t mean to say that…” Cas said, his voice shaking with emotion once again.

“He told you that?”

“Yeah,” Cas said sadly, “he showed me the bruises, too.”

“He told me that he got them fi—erm…”

Castiel sighed. “I know, Anna,” he said wearily.

“W-what?”

“He told me.”

Gabriel still hadn’t moved an inch, too caught up in the drama unfolding before him, trivial as it might seem.

“He…told…never mind. I think you should talk to him, Cas, alone.”

“How do I get him alone? He’s always surrounded by people.”

Anna thought for a second. “Go round to his house. Do you know where he lives?”

“Yes, I do but do you really--”

“If he told you that, it means he trusts you. I might not know a lot about psychology but I do know a little about boys, and if he trusted you with something like that he probably also trusted you not to reject him. Boys are...weird. Fragile egos. Especially Dean, you probably knocked his confidence more than anything.”

Cas nodded, that made sense. He thought back to last Tuesday, Dean had been so slow and timid before he touched Castiel’s wings, obviously expecting to be rejected even after presenting Cas with his biggest secret. That tentativeness had obviously taken a backseat when Cas’ reaction to him touching his wings was nothing but positive. If he was honest, Cas knew jack shit about people, but he trusted Anna to know what she was talking about.

“You need to sort it out. Dean sounds like…not a total dick, I guess.”

“What would I say to him?”

“Just explain it to him, it’s only his pride you’ve hurt, so be gentle and make sure to stroke his ego a lot and you should be fine. Rehearse what you’re going to say before you say it, then it’ll come easier.”

“Okay,” Cas replied, nodding his head again. Sounds easy enough. “I’ll go do that now. Thanks, Anna.”

“Uh, okay, bye Cas.”

Castiel sat there for a few seconds longer, phone still held against his ear. He didn’t want to go, he was afraid that Dean would kick him to the curb again – both literally and figuratively. But he knew if he didn’t do it now, still fresh from Anna’s semi-peptalk, he wouldn’t do it at all and if he had a chance to make something about his life not completely shit, then why shouldn't he take it?

“I need to get changed,” Castiel murmured. Gabriel’s fingers flew into action before he’d finished the sentence, carefully removing the oversized shirt he’d changed him into and folding his wings against his back to bind them (though, only loosely). He helped Cas put his shirt back on, quickly followed by his jumper and his trench coat.

Gabriel picked Cas’ discarded phone up off the bed and handed it to him. “If you’re not back in an hour and you don’t pick up the phone I am calling the police. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of some serious heavy petting, I will go to that house and drag you out by your earlobes.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. Usually that was the kind of thing Gabriel joked about, but he sounded deadly serious. He didn't even know what heavy petting meant, it sounded like something you'd do to a cat or a dog but he figured it was something a little more inappropriate.

Upon noticing Cas’ shocked expression, Gabriel’s face softened and extended his hand that contained his phone. “My point is, pick up your phone.”

Castiel took it and placed it back in the pocket of his trench coat, nodding at Gabriel’s instruction. He made his way downstairs and hesitantly opened the front door, glancing at his brother stood at the top of the stairs.

Seeing Gabriel’s nod of encouragement, Castiel stepped outside and began walking towards Dean’s house, careful to glance around for anyone looking to beat him up. He wasn’t really sure if this was a good idea or not, but it beat having the crap kicked out of him at school on a daily basis. Perhaps if he cleared things up with Dean everything would go a little better. When he reached the house, he stopped firmly in his tracks. The lights were on, they were definitely home, so he couldn’t use that as an excuse to chicken out.

Repeating his plan of action in his mind, he slowly walked up the steps.

_Okay, talk to Dean. Tell him you know you’re a freak but you can’t help it so if he could try to understand that would be great. Um…tell him you would like to kiss him, hope he doesn’t punch you in the face. Just make him understand. What did Anna say? Oh yeah, stroke his ego and stuff. I know you’re not good with the words but for the love of God don’t mess this up too badly._

Simple enough.

He knocked on the door. He almost didn’t do it, he nearly turned on his heel and bolted all the way home. He hated to admit it, but the only thing that stopped him was Gabriel – how pathetic would it be to go back home and admit that he hadn’t been able to do it. At least if he’d tried he wouldn’t have failed completely. 

He hovered from one foot to the other, praying that the boy’s father wouldn’t answer the door. That would be a difficult one to explain. Castiel didn’t do parents, they scared the crap out of him, and Dean’s father didn’t seem like one who would enjoy idle conversation.

Instead, it was the boy. The younger boy, no older than twelve. He shyly edged the door open and peered round it, a cautious and frightened look in his eye. He relaxed slightly when he saw it was just Castiel, he stepped around the door, keeping it firmly pressed to his back and slightly ajar so he could escape back inside if threatened.

“Hey, Castiel,” he said awkwardly, eyes darting around. “Sorry about…the thing. I didn’t mean for everyone to know, but Jess told Hannah James and…”

“Don’t worry, it’s, um, it’s fine. Is D-Dean home?” Castiel stuttered, unsure of how to react. He’d been hoping Dean would answer, but he’d been prepared for the father. What he hadn’t been expecting was Dean’s younger brother. Sam, Cas thought his name was. The very least he’d expected from the boy was for him to reference Castiel’s pitiful decline of the previous week. From Castiel’s experience people tended to dodge around awkward situations like that at all costs. 

Sam didn’t answer, instead his face crumpled with emotion and he drew in a hitched breath. It was then that Castiel noticed the red rimmed eyes and dampness of his eyelashes, which were welded together with tears. Something was wrong, and Cas had a horrible feeling it was something to do with Dean.

“He won’t wake up,” Sam whispered, hanging his head and letting a sob escape his lips. Castiel was lost for words, he had no idea how to handle emotional people. You’d have thought since he spent a great proportion of his own time crying he’d have some vague idea, but nope, he didn't have the faintest clue. What was he supposed to do? Place a hand on the boy’s shoulder and say _there, there_ and take him out for ice cream? Castiel thanked his lucky stars that Gabriel was far more equipped to handle this than he was, otherwise his bi-weekly emotional breakdown would be far more awkward than it already was.

But, Dean. Distantly, a voice screamed in Castiel’s head: _Did you hear that? Don’t just stand there, do something, you idiot!_ Dean wouldn’t wake up, that’s what Sam had said. Cas didn’t know the slightest thing about first aid, but the thought that he could be unconscious or even dead made a wave of panic settle into the pit of his stomach.

“Where is he?” Castiel asked, in a far louder voice than he’d intended to. Sam took a step back from the door and led Castiel inside, slamming it behind him, and leading him into the living room. Bile rose in Castiel’s throat and he had to swallow it down to prevent himself from throwing up due to the sight. Dean was lying on the floor without a shirt on, and the marks on his body that Cas had seen the other day were nothing compared to the scars that painted Dean’s skin like destructive artwork now.

“How long ago?” Castiel asked, falling to his knees at Dean’s side and pressing two fingers against his jugular – he had a pulse, and it was beating fairly strongly, if somewhat irregularly, that was good.

“About half an hour…Dad went out. I don’t know when he’ll be back.” Sam glanced out of the window at the street, checking for the truck that would soon enough return to the driveway. 

Castiel tilted Dean’s head up and placed an ear above Dean’s mouth. He could hear the shallow breaths and, looking across his bruised chest he could see the slight rise and fall that indicated he was still breathing.

“Why haven’t you called an ambulance?”

“Dad said I couldn’t tell anyone or they’d take us away…”

Cas thought for a moment. If the authorities knew that John had been doing this to Dean there was a good chance they would get taken away, but the first port of call would be a relative and Cas was pretty sure they wouldn’t be separated. If the two of them were together that was still okay, right? Castiel gave Dean another quick once over – he definitely needed an ambulance. There was a horrible series of cuts on Dean’s forehead that looked like they'd need stitches, and blood seeping from past his hairline (Cas hoped the broken glass on the ground had nothing to do with that), and the welts and bruises that covered his torso looked like they certainly needed medical attention. 

“Call 911,” Castiel said in what he hoped was a firm and authoritative voice, but it sounded timid and afraid more than anything.

“But--”

“Now,” he said more harshly. Sam rushed out of the room immediately and returned a few minutes later. Dean was still showing no signs of returning to consciousness any time soon.

“It’s on its way,” Sam said, chewing on his thumbnail.

“Tell me what happened,” said Castiel, not averting his eyes from Dean, terrified that he might just slip through his fingers if given the chance.

“We got home and Dad started yelling,” the boy said, sitting down on the other side of Dean’s lifeless body. “He told me to go up to my room but I stayed and hid. Dad started hitting Dean, I mean I know sometimes he gets angry and hits him but I don’t say anything because I don’t think Dean knows I know…A-and then he took his belt off and he wouldn’t stop. He kept shouting something…I think it was about you, I think he found out that--that Dean went to see you last week. It...it was horrible. He threw the beer bottle then he kept hitting Dean with his belt and he wouldn’t stop and…and th-then Dean just….” Sam trailed off, his voice thick with tears again. Castiel’s own father seemed like a fairy princess in comparison to what he’d heard of John Winchester – John Winchester who had beaten his son relentlessly into unconsciousness not thirty minutes ago just for visiting his sort-of-friend.

Sam started crying harder when the ambulance arrived and a swarm of paramedics and police officers invaded the house. Cas stood back from the commotion, taking Sam with him so that the paramedics could work their magic. Sam cowered into Castiel’s side and squeezed his eyes shut to avoid looking at the commotion. Not knowing what else to do, Cas called Gabriel. He didn’t tell his older brother a great deal, aware of the boy clinging to his side – which Cas tried not to think about, the close contact was making him twitch – and careful not to upset him, and Gabriel arrived just as the ambulance was driving off with Dean and Sam inside it. Castiel stood on the lawn, car keys that Sam had given him clutched in his hand, as Gabriel approached. 

“What the hell happened?”

“Can you drive?” Cas asked, tossing the keys in Gabe’s direction. 

Castiel didn’t say anymore, just sat in silence as Gabriel drove the car – Dean’s car, an Impala – to the hospital. Cas didn’t want to talk, whenever he thought too hard or closed his eyes the images of how much worse it could have been flashed behind his eyelids. And it was because of him. Dean’s father was obviously one of the many who despised people like him, and the mere concept of his son being friends with a winged person was far too horrific to consider. Castiel thought for a moment, last week Dean had been so kind to him – even then he must have known that doing so would result in a beating. The notion was strange to Cas, why would anybody do something if they knew they would get hurt because of it? Castiel realised with a start that he admired Dean – he refused to live in fear despite all that had been done to him. He was so…human. So wonderfully human.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Gabriel asked when they pulled in behind a long stream of traffic – the ambulance was way ahead of them by now.

“What’s to tell? Dean’s dad…” Castiel trailed off, unwilling to put it into words. He heard Gabriel sigh.

“Cas, you did good. If you hadn’t gone over there…”

Cas nodded. They continued the journey without another word.

* * *

They found Sam curled up in one of the chairs in the private room by Dean’s bedside. He was watching his older brother like a hawk, not taking his hazel eyes off of Dean for even half a second for fear he’d disappear. 

Castiel pulled up a chair on the opposite side of Dean’s bed and sat in it without saying a word. Gabriel didn’t stick around long, he left the room quickly muttering something about calling Anna. Cas didn't reply and nor did Sam. It seemed like the younger boy didn’t want to talk, and Castiel didn’t either. Sam perked up the second the doctor walked in, and he fidgeted nervously on his chair. Cas just waited patiently for the words the doctor was about to say, not entirely sure if he wanted to hear it.

“He has two cracked ribs,” the doctor began upon seeing the two expectant gazes staring at him, “other than that just a lot of bruising. No sign of infection or organ damage. All we can do is give him painkillers and let him rest, he’ll be very sore for a while but he should be free to go after a few days. We’re keeping him asleep at the moment to speed up the healing but he’ll probably wake up tomorrow.”

After a short pause the doctor turned to Sam and continued again. “The police are beginning their investigation immediately, they’re searching for your father but it looks like he’s bolted. They’ll come by to talk to you tomorrow. Is there somewhere you can stay tonight? We can’t allow you to stay in the hospital after visiting hours and it wouldn't be safe for you to go home.”

Sam blinked twice. Where could he go? Everywhere he went he’d be asked questions, friends would wonder what the hell was going on. He couldn’t tell them, not yet. There was nowhere he wanted to go, not even Uncle Bobby and Ellen's - their pitiful glances and incessant questions already plagued his mind. He just wanted to be alone, away from everyone else. 

“He can stay with us,” Castiel offered after a moment. It seemed like the right thing to do. Cas glanced at his watch, it was nearing seven so they had about an hour before they needed to leave. The doctor nodded sullenly and left the room; abuse cases were by far his least favourite. 

More for his own comfort than anyone else’s, Cas began to quietly hum his mother’s lullaby.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean felt like he was floating on clouds, nothing could harm or even touch him here. He was drifting through nothingness, numb and happy. That should have alarmed him that something was wrong, he was distant, lost in somewhere between sleep and consciousness. For once in his life, he was happy to just continue existing like this. He wasn’t sure what was happened or where he was, but he liked it. He liked the feeling of carelessness, of not having to worry. But the waking world was drawing him closer no matter how hard he tried to fight it. Which was not very much considering he didn't have it in him to fight any more. He just let himself be carried wherever his mind and body took him, rocking him in a soothing promise that everything would be alright.

It was the blaring lights above him that woke him in the end. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and glanced around. He was propped up on a hospital bed, and his muscles ached slightly both from the uncomfortable position he was in and the bruises that covered his skin. His arms were black and blue, and he was sure if he peered down the front of his hospital gown he'd seen similar marks painting his skin there as well.

“You’re awake,” a voice said, he turned at the sound of it. Sam was sat by his bedside picking at a sandwich that looked awfully dry. Hospital food was awful, you'd think considering it was being prepared for the weak and injured they'd at least try and make it in some way edible. With a second look Dean realised it had been made for him. 

“Bitch, are you eating my food?” He said without much conviction, it didn't look particularly appetising. 

“They said you might not wake up for a little while longer,” Sam said, his smile lighting up his eyes. He was thrilled to see his brother awake again.

Dean drew the back of his hand across his eyes, still not used to the glaring light above him. How could anybody sleep comfortably with that above them? No wonder the doctors had to knock people out in this place. He must have slept an unnaturally long time. He mindlessly fiddled with the drip that was poking into his arm.

“What time is it?” he asked, he felt like he’d been out for days or even years.

“About one thirty.”

“And…what day is it?”

“Wednesday, you got in last night at about six,” Sam said, his smile dropping. “Do you remember much?”

“No…just…I passed out?”

Sam nodded the affirmative. Dean’s face filled with panic.

“Do...do they know? They can’t find out, Sammy.”

Sam stared at the floor. “That’s why they brought you in, Dean. Castiel came over and you were out cold…he told me to call for an ambulance.” Sam's face contorted with worry, he hoped Dean wasn't mad with him. He could live with everything else, but he didn't know what to do if his big brother thought Sam had let him down.

“Dude, I was fine there was no…wait, Cas? Cas came over?”

Sam nodded again, happy to change the subject. 

“Where is he?”

Sam jerked his chin in the direction of the other side of the room. Dean turned his head and was shocked to see Castiel closer than he expected, his head on the bed resting inside the crook of his elbow, his face turned away. Dean could hear the occasional light snore he hadn’t noticed before. He smiled to himself and gently stroked a hand through Cas’ dark hair, not caring that Sam was watching, it calmed him slightly. Cas had come back for him, and stayed. Dean didn't know why that made him grin uncontrollably like the Cheshire cat.

“So,” Sam said with a wink, smile returning to his face, “you and him?”

Dean chuckled and punched Sam in the arm with the hand that wasn’t occupied in carding through Cas’ hair, and instantly flinched at the contact as a searing pain shot up his arm. Damn, that’d hurt.

“Yeah, the doctor said you shouldn’t try to move too much at the moment.”

Dean nodded and shook out the pain in his wrist.

“Dean, why did he come over last night?” Sam asked, wide curious eyes boring into Dean’s own.

He didn’t have enough time to respond, not that he even knew the answer, before the private room inherited another body which leaned over the end of Dean’s bed ominously. Dean tensed up, but relaxed a moment later when his mind connected the face to a name and realised it was only Uncle Bobby. He inwardly chided himself for being so pathetic, even if it had been his father what would it have mattered? He knew he'd deserve the beating that was to follow for ratting him out and trying to break up their family.

“Dammit, kid, why din’t you say somethin’?” Bobby said harshly, his threatening tone would strike fear into the strongest of hearts, but Dean knew Bobby - he’d never hurt a fly unless it was absolutely necessary. Then again, that was exactly what he’d used to think about his father once upon a time, too, and he couldn’t shake the fear the grew within his belly. Hopefully Bobby would wait until he was at least out of the hospital before showing him what he really thought. Dean narrowed his eyes at the bed sheets, the repetitive motion of his hand through Castiel’s hair calming him significantly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean said, raising his gaze to look Bobby in the eye. His dad had always been pretty specific about that, you look people in the eye when they address you or there are consequences to rectify that profound lack of respect.

“If I ev’r find John I’m gonna throttle him,” Bobby said, wringing his hands together in fury. “Never would have let you boys near him if I knew what he was doin’ to ya. Shoulda told me, idjit.”

“Sorry, sir,” Dean said again.

“Quit apologising, boy,”

“…Sorry,” Dean whispered, dropping his gaze to settle on Castiel’s sleeping form and concentrating on the feel of the boy's matted hair between his fingers.

Moments later, two police officers burst into the room. It was now becoming very crowded very quickly. Bobby stepped to the side to get out of their way. 

“I’m Officer Baker, this is my partner Officer Luton,” the female of the two said. She had long blonde hair, wide green eyes and curvaceous body. Dean wouldn’t have labelled her as the police officer type, but he’d been wrong before. She had a stern look on her face, and Dean was certain she wouldn’t be taking any shit today. Her partner, Officer Luton, was a tall man with dark hair and a long face who seemed far kinder than she did. 

“Mr Winchester, are you alright to answer a few questions for us? We want to get the investigation under way as quickly as possible,” said Officer Baker impatiently. Dean nodded.

“Answer what you can now, son, there’s no rush. Just be sure to tell the truth, you’re completely safe here,” Officer Luton said with a comforting smile, earning a glare from his partner. She obviously wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Dean assumed she also wasn't fond of mollycoddling during interrogation, which was what he feared this would turn into if it was her asking the questions. He tried to contain his sigh when Officer Baker pulled out a notepad and began speaking.

“Okay, Mr Winchester, how long would you say the abuse has been going on for?” 

Dean flinched at the use of the word, it made it sound so wrong. Officer Luton narrowed his eyes at her before turning to Dean to offer him a reassuring smile.

“Can you remember the first time your Dad hit you?” he said softly. Dean nodded as Officer Baker handed the notebook to her partner and folded her arms across her chest. "Can you tell me?" Officer Luton's voice was soft and reassuring, and completely nonjudgmental. He didn't feel for a second that Luton pitied him or didn't want to be here. He got no such vibe from Officer Baker.

“Um…when I was about five, a little while after my mom died. B-but it wasn’t his fault. He was grieving and Sammy was just a baby and I was being a brat,” Dean said in a rush. He realised it was a weak argument, it sounded like he was just making excuses. Mary hadn’t been dead for more than a few months and he hadn’t been talking, Sammy hadn’t liked the change in routine – he’d gone from a strict daily process to being dragged around motel rooms across different states in a matter of days until they settled back down in Lawrence a year or so later, in the same house that his father had never sold. To put it shortly, Dad had had his hands full and was getting fed up with Dean not talking and crying constantly, and had slapped him in anger. Dean couldn't say he blamed him.

He remembered it so clearly; but it didn’t feel undeserved. He was being difficult so his dad had reminded him not to be. It was a different way of doing things, but it worked and after a few more months Dean had started using coherent sentences again. He knew his father didn't mean it, sometimes he just couldn't hold it together and had to act in a certain way to keep their family functioning.

“How often was it after that?” Officer Luton said, scrawling something down on his pad while his partner tapped her foot impatiently.

“Um…not a lot, just whenever I misbehaved. I mean…it wasn’t like I never deserved it.”

“So it was discipline?” the officer offered, the look in his eyes suggesting he was simply humouring him. It was pretty clear that Luton didn’t agree with what Dean was saying for a second. 

“Yeah…” Dean said, sending a sideways glance at Uncle Bobby who was standing by the wall and staring at Dean with sad, droopy eyes. “But…as I got older it happened more often. I don’t know, I’m stupid, I just kept acting up even though I knew I’d get punished for it.”

“You're not stupid, son,” said Luton, scrawling something down on the page and circling it three times. “How often was it up until yesterday?"

“Once a week, maybe more depending on…” Dean trailed off not wanting to admit it had all been his fault. Why should the police even be here? He didn't want to get his dad arrested, all things considered he was a pretty good dad. Dean frowned and stared down at his hand in Cas’ hair and slowly moved it to trace the soft skin of the shell of the sleeping boy's ear. He’d much rather think about that than about how his dad was currently on the run from the police because he hadn’t been able to suck it up and deal. So what if he’d been out cold? It didn't matter what the police or anybody else said, he was to blame for all of this. Dad had said it himself a few days ago: _You keep pushing and pushing me. You know what'll come out of it so stop being a little attention seeking brat._ He thought his father had put it quite nicely.

“Does your father drink at all, son?” 

“Occasionally, but he never gets drunk. An-and it wasn’t like he was hitting me because he’d been drinking or he was angry, it was just what he had to do. He didn’t like doing it.”

The officer looked at him with sad eyes, his partner said something about getting coffee and left, murmuring under her breath. Luton didn’t give her a second look, refusing to let his eyes drop from Dean.

“Did he ever hit your brother?” he said, glancing briefly in Sam’s direction. Sam had already answered some questions earlier, but Luton hadn’t been present then so the twelve year old had been stuck with Officer Baker instead. Sam was sure Luton would have read through those notes and would know full well that nobody had ever laid a hand on him.

“No!” Dean said, his eyes widening, “I wouldn’t let him, Sammy’s never done anything wrong.”

Luton wrote something down and smiled at Dean, folding his notepad shut and putting it in the inside pocket of his jacket. 

"You're not gonna arrest my dad are you?" Dean asked, nervously. He knew he sounded pathetic but the idea of his dad going to prison because of him filled him with dread, that just couldn't happen. Officer Luton smiled weakly and leaned over the bars at the bottom of Dean's bed.

"We have to find him first, we'll bring you in some point over the next week or so to make an official statement then we can get a trial date set once we do. It's not safe for you to be around him anymore. We've asked one of the doctors to come around and take some photos of your injuries while they're still relatively fresh, if we have your consent. It'd really help us out." Dean dropped his gaze and nodded once, staring sadly at the blanket that was splayed over him. He'd done it, he'd split them up. He'd never be allowed to see his father again, and neither would Sammy.

“So what’s gonna happ’n now?” Bobby said from the corner, “I don’t want CPS comin’ to take those boys, they can stay with me.”

“We’ll have to run a background check on you first, sir, just to be safe. After that you’ll have to legally adopt the boys, it shouldn’t be too hard if you can prove you’re a fit parent since there aren’t any other relatives they can go to. Until you adopt them the child protection services could still interfere but after that everything should be fine. Social services will have to make regular visits though. I'm sure you can understand."

Bobby nodded and shook the officer’s hand.

“We’ll be in touch,” Luton said, bowing his head towards both young boys and turning to leave. 

Dean didn't respond and drew his hand in little circles around the skin of Castiel's earlobe. His skin was baby soft, except for the light trace of almost invisible stubble that decorated his jawline. Part of Dean hoped he’d never wake up, and they could stay like this for a while longer. Distracted by the feel of Castiel's skin, he didn't have to think about how his father would end up in jail. There was nothing he could do about that, but he could do something about Cas. He didn’t want to have to admit he’d been a dick, but he realised now he’d been completely unfair to Castiel. He’d called him…that word which he knew must never be uttered to a winged person, then he’d pushed him to the ground. And why? All because Cas hadn’t wanted to kiss him. 

If he was honest, Dean couldn’t blame him. He was the worst kind of asshole, and obviously incredibly stupid to have just assumed that Cas would like him that way. Castiel had given Dean no green lights to go forward – aside from the wing touching thing, but he figured that was more of a physical response than anything – and he had done it anyway and afterwards had had the nerve to act like a spoilt child when denied what he wanted. 

"Don't you ever say anythin' like that again, boy," said Bobby, and Dean was shocked for a second wondering what he was talking about. Could Bobby read his mind now? Did he somehow know about how he'd treated Castiel?

"W-What?" Dean stuttered, adding a hasty 'sir' when Bobby's eyes narrowed and he realised he hadn't said it.

"You're blamin' yourself because your daddy's a good for nothing scumbag."

"Uncle Bobby--"

"Boy, you listen to me. This ain't your fault and if I ever hear ya saying something like that again I'll wash yer mouth out with soap."

"Y-Yes, sir," Dean said, chewing nervously on his lip and dropping his eyes away from Bobby's harsh gaze. "Sorry, sir."

"Quit calling me 'sir' as well," said Bobby, sounding far less incensed. Dean nodded. "Idjit."

Bobby chuckled, Dean looked up, drawn out of his reverie. The older man winked at him, then glanced down at Cas, who was slowly beginning to stir. When Castiel came to, neither Bobby nor Sam were in the room any longer. Not wanting Castiel to think he was being invasive again, Dean reluctantly pulled his hand away and let it rest idly in his lap, aching from the loss of contact.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Dean said with none of his usual bravado.

Castiel propped his elbows up on the mattress and rubbed his eyes, yawning widely. He coughed twice and turned his head to look at Dean, smiling weakly. He didn’t know what to say, Dean was awake now but he couldn’t find the words to say what he needed to. Whatever he could have possibly wanted to tell him seemed horribly trivial given the current circumstances.

Dean closed his eyes for a second, when he opened them again he was staring solemnly at Castiel.

“Cas, I’m…so sorry.” He closed his eyes again and brought his hands together in front of his face for a moment. “I acted like such a dick to you, and you didn’t deserve it. I just…” He took a deep breath. “My…I could blame it on my _stupid_ ego, but it’s all just excuses. I-I’ve never been…rejected before so…I don’t know, it still wasn’t a reason to act like such a jerk. If you wanna just be friends that’s great, I did say we were friends and…and I shouldn’t have taken that back because you didn’t want me…like that.”

Dean hadn’t looked at Cas at all during his speech, it was much easier to say the words out loud if he pretended he was alone again. He waited for Castiel to respond, refusing to let his eyes drop from their focus on the doorway. Several moments past without a word and, too nervous to let it hang in the air, Dean turned his eyes back in Castiel’s direction.

Cas was staring at him with worried eyes. “I…” he breathed, barely audible. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

Dean couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face. Castiel had wanted Dean to kiss him. He wanted to sing from the rooftops. This was brilliant - perhaps he wasn’t a complete asshole! But…then…

“Then…why…?” Dean asked, unsure of how to phrase his question. Anger broke out across Castiel’s features and a horrified expression painted Dean's face, he worried for a moment if he’d upset him.

“It’s so frustrating,” he said, connecting his fist with the mattress, which bounced back in response. Castiel took a calming breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I…I have this…thing with physical contact…it, I don’t know, it just freaks me out. No matter how much I want to touch you or…anything—” Dean didn’t miss the blush that spread across Castiel’s cheeks “—I just can’t. I can’t help it, it just _is_.” He looked up at Dean, begging him to understand with the sincerity of his eyes.

Dean slowly moved his hand towards one of Castiel’s, which was lying limp on the mattress, making sure it was constantly in the other boy’s view. Cas bit down on his lip when Dean gingerly interlocked his pinky finger with Castiel's own.

“Not too bad, is it?” Dean said. Castiel relaxed and smiled. Dean was right, it wasn’t. Cas thought maybe he could do it, if they took it slowly step by step. He wondered if Dean would have the patience for that. He distantly remembered his own father telling him nobody would want to be around him if he didn’t stop acting like such a freak. Well, Dean knew what a freak he was and he was sticking around, for now at least. But would he stay for much longer with Cas unable to partake in gratuitous amounts of physical contact?

Dean gently slid his hand on top of Castiel’s and twined their fingers together. “We could go slowly,” he whispered. “No need to rush…unless you want me to, I remember you quite liked it when I touched your wings.”

Castiel blushed furiously and stared down at their interlocked fingers, away from the smirk that settled on Dean’s face.

“What about…Lisa?” Castiel said, trying to remember the latest girl’s name. It'd been a while since he'd seen Dean and Lisa Braeden together, but that didn't quench his nervousness - he didn't want to encroach on anything.

“Lisa? That ended pretty soon after it started. We were never really…I guess I’ve never been in a proper…relationship.” Dean looked down, pretending to scratch something off the surface of his blanket with his free hand. “I-I’d like to try…with you,” he said in a low voice.

“So you…don’t just want to fuck me?” Castiel whispered, not liking how the curse sounded on his lips. 

“’Course I would, but not… _just_.” He smiled as warmly as he could manage. “I don’t really know how to explain it, I like you and I…I want you to like me, too.” He paused again, a cocky half smile forming on his face. “I am utterly in like with you, angel.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was kind of short so here, have an extra long one! I suffered so much writer's block trying to write this chapter I almost put my head through a wall. The things I do for you guys.

Castiel stared anxiously at the clock on the wall. He caught himself glancing at it every half a minute, disappointed to see that the hands had barely moved. They were slowly itching towards six o’clock, the time where he could finally leave work. He never used to be so anxious to leave, but then again he never used to get invited round to people's houses for dinner. Just under two weeks had passed since Dean had been discharged from the hospital, he and his brother had been residing at Bobby and Ellen’s with Jo ever since and the adoption process was nearly complete - a few short weeks and Bobby and Ellen would have legal custody of both Sam and Dean. Cas was happy for them, and he couldn't help but smile slightly just thinking about it.

Dean was safe, there was no longer any threat of him being harmed. The thought made Castiel happy. There was nobody better for Dean and Sam to stay with than Bobby and Ellen, he’d been visiting so often lately that he’d come to know them reasonably well, and he'd discovered pretty quickly that Bobby wasn't nearly as terrifying as he looked on first glance – but it was hard fitting in visits between school, work and making sure he didn’t totally abandon Gabriel. After that Wednesday he took off school to spend by Dean’s bedside, he went back to school immediately. A text from Dean was all most of the school needed to leave him alone. They still whispered, of course, but at least he didn’t have to hear it anymore. The following week Dean was back at school too and Castiel had found himself sat between him, Jo and Ash every day at lunch rather than in the corner by himself. The rest of Dean’s clique didn’t like the new arrangement much, but they didn’t dare say a thing about it. Castiel didn't care much for them anyway, he didn't have to talk to them. That didn't mean he missed the harsh remarks and hateful glares Meg Masters often sent his way.

Tonight, Cas was visiting again. Ellen’s cooking was apparently marvellous, and he’d had the honour of being invited round to join them. He was looking forward to it immensely. One thing he hated about the weekends is that he had to go the whole day without seeing Dean. He didn’t understand what he felt towards the other boy, he just knew that over the last two weeks his fondness of Dean had grown significantly. He found himself constantly wanting to be around him – had even resorted to texting in class and at work (though as sneakily as possible). Gabriel liked it, and smiled to himself whenever Castiel mentioned Dean. Anna was less accepting, she willed Castiel to just be cautious because it could still go down hill pretty quickly from here. He humoured her, promised her that he was being careful and wouldn't get too attached; it was a lie, of course, but it seemed to placate her.

The second the short hand hit the six, Castiel dove into the back room and tore his apron off, grabbing his coat and heading out of the door without a second word to Raj. Usually he’d wait for Liam to turn up to cover the rest of the evening shift but not tonight, he had more important places to be and he wasn't going to stand around with Raj any longer than was expected of him.

As he got closer to the house anxiety began to churn in his stomach – he’d had the odd friendly exchange with Bobby and Ellen in passing, and he quite liked them, but sitting down and being forced to make conversation with them for hours? He wasn’t sure. He bit his lip as he knocked the door, a dark part of his mind hoping nobody would answer.

“Hi, Cas!” Jo sang, yanking the front door open and grabbing him by the arm to drag him inside. Jo was very…eccentric. Her sheer energy put him on edge sometimes.

“Jo, chill,” Dean’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs where he was leaning against the banister. “You’re gonna give the poor guy a heart attack.”

Cas sent Dean a grateful look. Jo scoffed and playfully punched Castiel in the shoulder. He pretended it didn’t hurt. Dean laughed at Cas’ offended expression and sat on the bottom step.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, smiling widely. He loved it when Castiel came over, just being in his presence made Dean’s stomach do excited little flips like he’d never experienced before. 

“Hello, Dean," said Castiel. "How are you feeling?” He sat himself down on the step next to Dean, their sides lightly brushing together. This was about the closest they’d gotten – apart from the occasional hand holding and maybe a light kiss on the cheek every so often – on the physical contact front, but even the small contact made Castiel blush ferociously.

“Good, bruises are starting to fade. Look,” he said, lifting up the side of his shirt so Castiel could see the bruises on his skin which were now a pale shade of yellowish green. Dean dropped his shirt and let his hand fall gingerly onto Castiel’s knee. Cas drew in a sharp breath and stiffened, but didn’t pull away.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“S’okay,” Dean said, grinning for some unbeknownst reason. He nudged Castiel’s shoulder with his own. They were making progress, it might have been slow but it made Dean happy nonetheless. It didn't matter how light the touches were, because he simply loved touching Cas - he loved how each tiny caress caused Castiel to blush and hide his face. Dean loved his shyness, Meg had snapped a few times about how it must be frustrating to be with someone so, in her own words, frigid. He didn't mind though, it made every single touch that little bit more special. And, hey, just because he was a teenage boy and spent most of his time drowning in a pool of hormones didn't mean he couldn't appreciate that.

“Boys!” Ellen called from the dining room. Dean and Cas stood up and made their way into the adjacent room where Bobby and Jo were already sat at the table and Ellen was dispersing plates of steaming food, Sam joined them only moments later after bounding down the stairs like an excited puppy.

“Who wants to say Grace?” Ellen asked, taking her seat at the head of the table. Cas was slightly taken aback, he hadn’t taken any of them to be particularly religious, but then again he only really knew Dean – and Dean hadn’t been raised by any of these people. Castiel's own views on religion were something he tried not to think about. He loosely considered himself Christian, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to church or even thought about God that much. Despite everything, he hoped there was a God – it would make everything so much nicer. However, sometimes when he couldn’t sleep he found himself panicking about this very thing – what if there wasn’t a God and it really was just nothing? What if life was meaningless? _What if everything was a fragment of his own imagination?_

He thought it best to keep such philosophical debates away from the dinner table.

“I will,” Bobby declared before anyone else could jump in – Cas definitely didn’t miss the pained sigh that both Ellen and Jo made, Sam chuckled and Dean shook his head, smiling fondly at his uncle. Everyone closed their eyes and clasped their hands together. Cas wasn’t really sure what people said at this point, he understood the idea of being grateful for food and thanking God for being so lucky and all that, but his logical mind whispered to him in the back of his head. It had absolutely nothing to do with God whether we eat or not, if you can get a job then you can get money which means you can get food. And to get a job all you need is to be someone who wasn’t a minority or incapable of work with a half decent education. So you’re really thanking God for the fact that you’re a literate, sentient being without wings. 

Once again Castiel dispelled the philosophical thoughts from his mind.

“Grace,” said Bobby, grinning to himself. Cas blinked twice, confused. 

“Every time,” Dean whispered to Cas, shaking his head. 

“It’d be weird if I din't do it though, kiddo,” Bobby winked, picking up his fork and stabbing it into his steak with ease.

“I think it’s funny,” said Sam.

“Trust me, darlin’, it gets old pretty quick,” Ellen mumbled, playfully kicking her husband under the table. Jo nodded in agreement.

Castiel chuckled and stuck a mouthful of steak into his mouth. Watching the dynamics of the dinner table, he was hit with a pang of sadness – he’d never experienced anything like this before. Even when more of his brothers and sisters lived at home, they never once ate together. When they did it would only be Gabriel, Anna and himself. He found himself wishing he had a family like this; his own was big, but it was distant – he wanted a crowded dinner table with everyone exchanging stories and telling jokes. He knew it would be impractical and possibly chaotic, but they’d be his family. This was how families were supposed to act, they weren't supposed to never see each other and only meet up at Christmas. 

Still locked up in his mind, he swallowed the mouthful of steak he’d been chewing for a while.

“How’s the food, hon?” Ellen asked, smiling warmly at him. He liked Ellen, but she scared him a bit. He had no doubt she was at least ten times tougher than she looked – and she looked pretty tough as it was. Best not to piss her off.

“It’s great,” he said, picking up another bite. It really was; he wasn’t used to eating food that wasn’t completely drenched in sugar. It made a nice change, and it probably wouldn’t give him diabetes in the long run, unlike Gabriel's cooking.

Another thing that took Castiel by surprise about the Harvelle family dynamic was that after they’d finished eating dinner, nobody moved. They sat at the dinner table surrounded by empty plates and continued their conversations. Every so often Dean would whisper an explanation to him - the punchline to one of Bobby's unfunny jokes, or the back story behind some much told tale - and it wasn’t long before Dean’s hand found its way into his. He decided he liked the feeling of Dean’s hand - it somehow managed to be rough and smooth at the same time and he just about fell in love with the way that Dean’s thumb massaged gentle, soothing circles onto the back of his hand. It soothed him; he could just about fall asleep to that soft, repetitive motion.

“How’re things with you, Cas?” Ellen asked when the previous conversation had ground to a halt. “You’ve barely said a word all night.”

Castiel’s eyes widened like a rabbit caught in the headlights – he’d been perfectly happy just observing. Dean squeezed his hand and he relaxed somewhat - it wasn't like they were going to kill him or anything.

“Tell us something about your family,” Sam suggested.

“Um…th-there’s not a lot to tell really,” he said in a low voice, casting his eyes down. If any of them noticed how uncomfortable he was, they didn’t say anything. He didn’t know he if he was grateful for that or not.

“You live with your brother, right?” Jo asked, trying to help him out a bit. All the times he’d met with this family, they’d never once asked him about himself. He'd always hated talking about himself, he despised being the centre of attention with all eyes focussed on him, but he couldn't for the life of him think of a way to turn the conversation back around to them. So what could he do but just answer their questions and hope that they got bored soon enough.

He nodded. “A-and Anna too, but she’s at university at the moment.” He folded his free arm across his body and began rubbing at the opposite side. “She’s studying journalism," he said upon seeing the question on their lips.

“See, boy, we know more about ya already,” said Bobby.

“Does she have wings?” Sam said excitedly, unable to contain himself. 

“Sam!” Bobby chided, before curiously adding: “Does she?” Ellen kicked him under the table, harder this time. He frowned and reached under the table to rub at his leg.

“Y-Yeah, she does,” Cas whispered. Dean rubbed his temple with his free hand and squeezed his eyes shut. Castiel swallowed nervously.

“Cool! What’re they like?” Sam exclaimed, bouncing up and down on his chair.

“They’re…like a dark red, w-with speckles,” he mumbled, staring down at the tabletop.

“Can we see yours?” Sam said after a moment, his curious nature getting the best of him. Dean shot him a _dude, stop_ look and sharply slapped his shoulder – not hard enough to hurt, just enough to get his attention and make him shut the hell up.

“I…” Cas started, his eyes darting around nervously and anxiety beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we?” Jo added after a moment. Dean glared at her.

“Joanna Beth,” Ellen warned.

“What? I only saw that one picture and it was really blurry.” She turned to Castiel. “Please, Cas, c’mon it’s only us.”

Castiel felt a painful lump rise in his throat and he forgot how to breathe for a second – he could feel the walls closing in around him and the only thing that stopped him from bolting was Dean’s firm yet tender grip on his hand. If he focussed on that, perhaps he wouldn't scream.

“Please, please, please!” Sam whined, sounding all of eight years old.

Dean ground his teeth together. Obviously his glowers hadn’t been enough warning to the rest of his adopted family. They couldn’t possibly be so blind as to not see the fear rising in Castiel’s eyes - this was so not the way he’d wanted this evening to go. He didn’t want Cas to be afraid to come here because he thought he was going to get interrogated and pressured into doing something he didn’t want to. Finally fed up, Dean shouted: “Guys, stop!”

He knew yelling at the dinner table was a big no-no in Ellen Harvelle’s book, and he was pretty sure she’d whack him with a wooden spoon if they didn’t have a guest and Dean wasn’t still sore and completely covered in slowly fading bruises. Luckily, it worked and everyone fell silent.

“I should probably go,” Cas whispered, keeping his eyes cast down and speaking around the painful lump in his throat which caused his voice to tremble. He carefully untangled his fingers from Dean’s and pushed himself into a standing position. “Thank you for the meal, Ellen, it was delicious,” he said with a forced smile.

“Cas, stay,” Dean said, aware of the fact that he sound extremely pathetic and not caring one little bit. Damn his family to hell if they said anything about it.

“No, no, I have to leave anyway. Gabriel doesn’t like being alone in the house,” he lied, somewhat amused by how the statement managed to liken Gabriel to a little dog. “Thank you for inviting me over, though,” he said with a brief nod in their general direction before excusing himself from the room.

Dean sent his family a harsh glower before following his sort-of-boyfriend out of the room, just managing to catch him on the front doorstep.

“Cas, wait,” he called. Castiel stopped and turned, surprised by how close Dean was to him. He almost leaped backwards but stopped himself. He’d already been rude enough tonight, no need to add to it. He hoped they didn't think him uncouth. “Sorry about them.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas said, forcing a smile to make its way onto his lips.

“No, it’s not,” he retorted, pushing a hand through his cropped hair, “I don’t want you to not want to come here because they’re acting like idiots…a-and you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Castiel didn’t respond, just stared down at the floor. Dean took a step closer so that their chests were almost touching. He lightly traced his fingers across the back of Cas’ hands.

“Can I?” he asked, barely above a whisper. When Castiel nodded his approval Dean took both of his hands in his and pressed them both to his lips. “You’ll come back soon?”

Castiel nodded again. Dean smiled and very slowly edged his head closer to Castiel’s and placed a light kiss on his cheek, admiring the red blush it left behind. He didn’t move from that position, just let his cheek fall against Cas’ so he could whisper softly in his ear.

“Go on a date with me tomorrow.”

“Is that an order?” Cas asked, hint of a smile in his voice as he leaned ever so slightly into Dean’s touch. He could feel the boy's shallow breath on his neck.

“No… just a humble request.”

“Who goes on dates on Sundays?”

“We do.”

“Okay,” Cas whispered back, letting his head fall into the crook of Dean’s neck. He felt Dean’s hands let go of his and slowly wrap themselves around him. Castiel returned the gesture, and for once he didn’t feel the need to run or hide. He was perfectly content to just stay here with Dean’s arms wrapped around him, perfectly safe inside the embrace.

* * *

Castiel glanced at the clock on the wall. Again. He found himself doing that a lot lately, staring at clocks. Time had never really bothered him before, but now he found himself hung on it at every opportunity. It was currently three minutes past seven. That worried him, Dean said he’d be here at seven o’clock on the dot but he still hadn’t arrived. Gabriel cuffed Cas upside the head for being so ridiculous when he mentioned it – three minutes late didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to show.

When Castiel had told Gabe that Dean had asked him out on a date last night, he’d practically jumped for joy, and Cas was starting to think that Gabe was more excited about it than he was. He’d even taken him shopping today to buy him some new clothes with money they did not have. Despite his finest claims, Gabriel wasn’t great when it came to fashion and they’d resorted to calling Anna for help with what to buy. They’d settled on a pale blue button down shirt, an expensive looking black blazer and a pair of jeans that actually fit and weren’t anybody’s hand-me-downs. Gabriel forced Cas to try on the garments before they purchased them, and they decided that the contours of his bound wings weren’t too easily visible through the jacket. If you didn't know they were there, you wouldn't notice a thing.

Castiel made a noise that was far from human when the doorbell rang, causing Gabriel to roll his eyes. Cas couldn’t make himself move, so it was Gabriel who answered the door while he attempted to collect himself. All hope of that was lost when Gabe led Dean into the living room where Castiel was hopelessly trying not to scream. Dean looked a lot smarter than Cas had ever seen him – he was wearing a suit jacket with the sleeves rolled up over his faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt and _oh God, was he wearing cologne?_

Dean gave Cas his cocky half smile, and his eyes lit up with sincerity. Castiel stared into them – that was another thing he’d noticed lately, he was becoming much better with maintaining eye contact. Well, he was with Dean anyway, with anyone else he’d have to drop them after a few short seconds but with Dean he could last almost ten before he had to look away. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make his heart swell with something between pride and gratitude.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Well, if you two are just gonna stand here eye-fucking then I’m gonna get out of your way.” He turned to Cas and winked before he left the room. Castiel stared at the floor as a fierce blush painted his cheeks.

Dean extended a hand and Cas hesitantly took it, chewing on his lip and trying to expel the anxious butterflies that flitted around in his stomach. Dean led Castiel out to the Impala and opened the passenger door for him, making him blush again. He really needed to figure out a way to stop doing that, it was getting embarrassing. 

Castiel all but jumped out of his seat when Dean flicked the radio on – damn, it was loud. Dean chuckled as he turned it down a notch, mumbling his apologies. Cas stared in awe (and slight confusion) as Dean loudly sang along while drumming his knuckles against the steering wheel while they drove.

“You never heard this one?” Dean asked in disbelief when he saw the looks Castiel was shooting him. Castiel shook his head. _”Mine’s a tale that can’t be told, my freedom I hold dear.”_ Dean sang, sending Castiel playful glances.

They pulled into a parking lot somewhere – it was dark out and Castiel couldn’t quite make out the name of the place from this angle, despite the neon sign, but he was pretty sure they were at least a town over from Lawrence – and did a double take when Dean tossed something into his lap. He picked it up and examined it: a fake ID. He gave Dean an incredulous look.

“What? You could pass for twenty one.” Castiel rolled his eyes, he was certain that that was a lie. He was sixteen, and although he looked older than his age he doubted he could pass for anything above eighteen. Dean, on the other hand, could probably pull it off without a hitch. 

“How did you…?” Castiel asked, not even wanting to know where Dean managed to get his picture.

“Ash made them. Pretty cool, huh?”

Castiel let his mouth hang open for a second. Dean smiled encouragingly at him, and before he knew it Dean was out of the car and opening the passenger door for him and offering his hand. They walked together, hand in hand to the back of the queue – Cas abruptly realised they were going to a nightclub, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that – and when they finally approached the massive bouncer Cas couldn’t help but draw in a nervous breath when he inspected his fake ID. After a brief moment's hesitation the two of them were waved throguh.

The club was nothing like Cas would have expected, but then again he hadn’t been completely sure what he’d been expecting. There weren’t any luminous strobe lights and the floor wasn’t lit up with neon – there wasn’t even a DJ. On a raised platform on one side of the room there was a rock band playing, nobody famous Cas was sure otherwise entrance wouldn’t have been free. There were a few beams of silver light dancing across the room but other than that there was nothing more exciting than the crowds of people jumping in the beat of the music. The music was loud, but it wasn't unbearable, and he appreciated the lack of bright lights - this would not be the place to go into sensory overload and have a breakdown. Castiel wasn’t fond of masses of people, but somehow it didn’t bother him - they were all over by the band, and it wasn't too crowded everywhere else so he didn't have to worry about unwanted contact too much. He had very little knowledge of music and didn’t recognise any of the songs the band was playing – which Dean sang along to at full volume while trying (successfully) to make Cas laugh by making an utter fool of himself – but he was almost certain they were the classics he probably should be able to identify. 

After a few drinks and more than a few humiliating public displays - including Dean sliding across the floor on his return from the bar and singing _are you gonna be my girl?_ right along with the band, ending on his knees right in front of Cas with a coy smirk playing about his lips - Dean and Castiel ended up side by side in one of the club’s booths with a greasy plate of French fries. 

“Dude…dude, no – I mean, I get they’re umbrellas but why are they so little!?” Dean said, picking up the colourful umbrella out of his Screaming Orgasm (which he’d childishly ordered just because he found the name rather hilarious – the drink itself looked rather unappetising and definitely out of place with a little umbrella residing in it). “And, and look how flimsy it is!” he exclaimed, easily tearing the tissue paper between his fingers. “That’s not gonna protect you from the rain.” He frowned.

“I don’t think that’s what it’s for, Dean,” said Cas, stuffing another fry into his mouth. Dean had had significantly more to drink than he had and he was certain he’d be feeling it tomorrow. Cas had remained relatively sober – he was still only on his second beer and he hadn’t touched the Sex On My Face (he could do nothing but admire the wide range of cocktails the bar had to offer) that Dean had ordered for him. He could use the excuse of being a designated driver, but he had no clue how to drive. There was no way he was letting Dean behind the wheel of a car anytime soon; they’d just have to figure out another way to get home.

“Then what is it for then?” Dean squeaked, covering it up with a manly cough. “Then…then..th-then,” he mumbled, trying the word on his tongue. 

“I don’t know,” Cas said, deciding he couldn’t win an argument with a drunken Dean and it was probably best to just humour him. “Who would make an umbrella with no intention of using it correctly?” Cas asked, smiling at the way Dean's face lit up when he realised Cas was on his side.

“I know! Probably Canadian.”

Castiel held his tongue; it probably wasn’t the best idea to point out that that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. What had the Canadians ever done to Dean? Besides reaching a state of legal equality about fifty years before every state in America, of course, but he doubted that was what pissed Dean off about them.

“Don’t go messing with those Canadians, Cas,” Dean slurred, sliding across the booth towards him. He gently touched the side of Cas’ face – even in his intoxicated state his touch was softer than a feather. “They have mooses. Mooses can kill you, y'know.” Dean paused for a second then looked at Cas with a confused expression. “Mooses? Meese? Moo…sen? What’s the plural?”

“I think it’s just moose,” Cas chuckled.

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Cas couldn’t resist saying with a smirk. Dean brought something out in him that made him feel like he was either floating or falling – either way it filled him with a sense of distinct adoration.

“M’not,” he pouted, sliding even closer to Castiel so that they were touching in almost every way possible. Dean’s hand was still lightly stroking his cheek, and he slowly pulled Cas towards him and pressed their lips together. An electric shock shot down Castiel’s spine, but he didn’t let himself tense up. Although Dean was drunk, he was anything but sloppy and forceful – if anything he was softer than usual when he touched him. 

Castiel completely forgot how to even think when Dean’s tongue lapped at his bottom lip. He sighed against Dean’s lips. Dean smirked and moved his lips to place little pecks and licks across Castiel’s jawline and eventually down the curve of his neck. More electricity, more surges of a feeling he didn’t quite know what to do with. It was new and terrifying, and he both wanted it to stop and wished it would never end. He shivered when Dean’s hand travelled underneath his shirt to tenderly caress the feathers of his bound wings.

He wasn’t sure what happened, but one second he was enjoying the delicate kisses and the exciting sensation of knots being tightened in the pit of his stomach and the next he felt the butterflies turn sour and bile rise in his throat. He couldn’t do this now, not like this. Not with eyes everywhere, eyes that could probably see the tips of his feathers sticking out if his shirt rode up any further.

He placed hishands against Dean’s shoulders and gently pushed him off. “Dean, please,” he whispered. He was sure Dean couldn’t have heard him above the loud music, and the shove would have been nothing against Dean’s superior strength. But Dean stopped. He leaned back and shuffled slightly away so Castiel could have some room to catch his breath. 

“Thank you,” he panted. 

“No, thank _you_ ,” Dean said, gingerly holding one of Castiel’s hands in both of his own and softly pressing his lips to it. "My angel."

* * *

Dean had passed out in the cab on the way home and was slumped over with his head in Castiel's lap in a position that looked far from comfortable. It was close to two in the morning and Cas suddenly realised why dates on a Sunday were never a good idea. He had to be up to get ready for school in four hours. He had a feeling Dean would be far worse for wear tomorrow (or today rather) than he, Cas, would be – if he even turned up for school that was.

The cab pulled into Ellen and Bobby’s house and Cas told the driver to wait while he tried to carry Dean’s semi-conscious form up the steps. He was digging around in Dean’s back pocket in search of a house key – “Cas, why’re you grabbing my ass? I mean m’not complainin’ but jeez,” – when Bobby opened the front door.

“S-Sorry for waking you,” Cas stuttered, dropping his eyes and pretending to be busy supporting Dean's weight. 

“Nah, I was awake anyway. Figured somethin' like this might happ’n.” Bobby hauled Dean up over his shoulder and out of Cas’ grip – snores filled the air just moments later. “You need money for the cab, boy?”

Castiel’s face fell, he hadn’t thought about that. Cas only had small change left from the twenty dollar bill Gabriel had given him (all they’d had to spare) before he went out, Dean had said he would pay for the cab before he’d spent it all on cocktails of various peculiar names. Cas mentally kicked himself, how could he have let something like that escape his mind? What if the taxi driver went crazy and tried to kill him? The man did look vaguely murderous and far from trustworthy.

He shook that thought out of his mind – the cab driver wouldn’t try to kill him, would he?

Bobby smiled and handed Cas a fifty dollar bill. Cas’ eyes widened, that was more than enough to cover the costs. “Oh n-no, I can’t--” The older man gave him a stern look and wished him goodnight, clicking the door shut behind him.

For the rest of the journey home Cas thought idly about the night’s events – it felt so surreal that he’d actually gone to a club and (sort of) had cocktails and everything. Mostly, he thought about Dean’s lips on his skin, it’d felt…nice. Nicer than he’d thought it possibly could. It still made him nervous thinking about it but it was a better kind of nervous that didn’t make him want to vomit.

It took him a moment for the thought to come to him, but when he did his eyes widened and he tried to stifle a gasp unsuccessfully (not something ideal in the presence of a murderous looking cab driver – Cas had decided he did, in fact, look like a murderer). _Was he in a relationship? With a person?_ It might still only have been early days, but that was far more than Cas could ever have hoped for from anyone. An actual person who was living and breathing and wanted to spend time with him in a non platonic way – Castiel had never thought that that kind of person existed. It was something that happened in books and definitely not to people like him.

“We’re ‘ere, mate,” the taxi driver said in a thick Scottish accent – well, that explained why he looked like a serial killer. 

Castiel glanced out of the window and his mouth dropped open at what he saw. _No, no, what the hell was going on!?_ Everywhere he looked there were plastic refuse bags filled to the brim with clothes and possessions, and Gabriel was sat on the dewy lawn on top of a single sofa cushion, shivering with his golden wings wrapped around himself.

“Laddie,” the taxi driver said, poking him in the side. “Forty three fifty.”

Castiel threw the fifty dollar bill in his direction and scrambled out of the cab and ran across the lawn, unable to comprehend what he saw in front of him. Gabriel must have noticed his arrival, because he’d buried his head in his hands in the universal Gabriel-Doesn’t-Want-To-Talk-Right-Now signal.

Castiel couldn’t make words form on his tongue, he just stood open mouthed staring at the wreck that had once been their home. They had more stuff than he’d previously anticipated, and the bags were filled with everything from medicine and photos to clothes and blankets. No furniture, though, Gabriel mustn't have had time to salvage that on top of everything else.

“I managed to get all your books before they kicked us out.” Gabriel jerked his head in the direction of a black bag spilling over with books. After a few moments of silence Gabe spoke again. “I screwed up, Cas.”

“W-What happened?”

“I haven’t been able to pay the bills in four months.”

“Four months?” Cas exclaimed, he didn’t miss Gabriel’s flinch at his harsh tone. He sighed and sat down next to his big brother on the lawn and hesitantly laid his head on his shoulder. It felt awkward to him but he knew that Gabe revelled in the comforting contact, so it didn't matter. “Why didn’t you tell me? I-I could have gotten another job, worked over time or something...or nights...”

“It’s not just the bills, Cas,” Gabriel massaged his temple. “Dad got into some financial trouble, gambling I think, and the debt collectors traced him back to here – they have no idea where he is. There’s not a lot we can do.” Gabriel hung his head, when he spoke again Castiel was sure he could hear a slight tremble in his voice. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“What for?”

“I’m s’posed to look after you,” he sighed, “Anna’s gonna kill me.” Gabriel hesitantly spread his wings so that they were covering both himself and Castiel, they were shaking like a leaf. Castiel touched Gabriel’s hand, it was freezing. Upon further inspection he also noticed it was pale blue.

“How long have you been out here?”

“A while,” Gabriel said, his voice still quivering with emotion. Sometimes it was awkward that Castiel didn’t understand anything about emotions and stuff, but at times like this he was grateful for it. A blind monkey would be able to tell that Gabriel was upset, but he was glad he couldn’t perceive the extent of it. He didn’t want to. “They, uh, they got here just after you left. Barely had time to pack everything.”

Castiel remained silent for a moment and cast his mind back to the events of the past few days. Gabriel had seemed on edge, constantly nervous, and had been eager to get him out of the house tonight. In fact he -- Castiel froze. "Gabe?" he asked, trying to make his tone as unaccusatory as possible. "Did you ask Dean to take me out tonight?" 

Gabriel made a painful noise that sounded awfully like a wounded animal – he’d never felt so guilty or useless in his life. That was a pretty impressive feat considering he spent most of his time feeling useless and guilty. But they couldn’t stay here. They had to get out. Sleeping on the streets seemed like a horrible idea now that they were presented with the reality of it.

“There’s a motel a few blocks over, we can stay there tonight,” Gabriel said in a voice that was low and defeated. Castiel looked around, how could they get all of this stuff to a motel without needing multiple trips? He looked around for inspiration, and moments later an idea hit him. 

“Is Dad’s old wheelbarrow still in the shed?” he asked, a distant memory of his father building a brick barbeque and carrying cement and bricks around in a massive wheelbarrow prevalent in his mind – easily big enough to carry over half of the bags on the lawn if they loaded it right. 

Gabriel shrugged but got to his feet, shaking out his wings. He made his way over on trembling legs to the large wooden fence that separated the front lawn from the back garden. It was six or seven feet high but he should be able to climb over it and unlock it from the inside pretty easily.

“Give me a leg up,” Gabriel said, dragging the back of his hands across his eyes. Castiel clasped his hands together and boosted Gabriel over the fence. Straddling the top of it, Gabriel spread out his wings – he couldn’t use them to fly but hopefully they’d help him glide safely to the ground without breaking anything. Or rather, they would have if he hadn’t lost his balance and tumbled off of it. Castiel flinched at the sound of his brother hitting the ground on the other side of the fence.

Seconds later, Gabriel opened the gate with a frown on his face. His left wing twitched and hung awkwardly, it looked sprained. He knew from experience how badly that hurt. His own sprained wing had been from jumping off a tall cabinet when he was seven in an attempt to fly. His father had sent him to bed early without dinner for it, which sucked considering it had been about three in the afternoon. He remembered that well.

“Let’s find that damn wheelbarrow and get out of here,” Gabe grumbled, refusing to look anywhere but at the shed in the corner of the garden, as if the brick walls of the house had personally offended him and he couldn't bear to give them so much as a glance.

Luckily, the ratty old thing was exactly where it should have been, though completely covered in cobwebs and various disgusting insects. They wheeled it out onto the front yard and began loading it with the bags full of heavier stuff, balancing bags on top of each other and hoping they wouldn’t fall off. A couple of lighter bags hung off the handles, and they carried the rest themselves. 

Getting to the motel was easy enough, but the next bit was what was difficult. Gabriel handed Castiel his credit card and told him there should be enough to keep them here for a few nights until Cas got his paycheque from the coffee shop. Castiel swallowed a lump in his throat, he had to check them into a room – Gabriel couldn’t do it, not with his golden wings on show. They just had to hope that whoever was behind the counter didn’t know Castiel from Adam and knew nothing about the wings bound to his back.

“How many nights?” the middle aged man behind the desk asked, sounding far beyond bored, when Castiel asked for a twin room.

“Two,” he retorted, that was all they could afford until Cas’ got paid tomorrow night – they could renew their stay then. The clerk swiped the card, yawning, and handed it back moments later along with the key to room seven.

It was a difficult night. Castiel managed to get some sleep after about half an hour of worrying what would happen to them now – would they be doomed to live in this grotty motel for the rest of their lives? Would they have to take new names, bind their wings and move to a new town where nobody knew them and rent a tiny flat? He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to transfer high schools and start hell all over again. He didn’t want to leave so suddenly after something good was starting to happen with his life. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? It was something his father had always told him: _quit while you’re ahead because you’re never happy for long._ Castiel had known exactly what he meant – he’d been referring to Castiel’s own birth and how he and his wife should have counted their blessings and, figuratively, quit while they still had a chance of being happy for a little while longer. It could apply nicely to this situation, things were crappy but for the first time Castiel had a real friend - a _boyfriend_ maybe?

He fell asleep imagining what it would be like if the situation was different, if he wasn’t cursed with wings or his various mental disabilities, maybe he and Dean could stand the test of time. He knew it was unlikely, but there was something about Dean that, despite everything, made him happy. It was something he never wanted to let go of. No matter how much he tried, he knew he couldn’t get out of it now. He was in too deep, and, quite frankly, he didn’t want to get out. He could stay with Dean for most of his remaining life and die a happy man.

Gabriel’s thoughts were far more tumultuous – he spent the whole night lying awake, staring at the ceiling and massaging his still throbbing wing. Usually, he held them with pride. They were a part of him just as much as each of his other limbs were, and sure they were a pain sometimes; when they got wet they took hours to dry again, people weren’t very accepting either but it had never really mattered before. He'd always taken every day as it came and survived. Tonight he was angry, and for the first time since he could remember he wanted to tear them right off his back and burn them to dust.

* * *

“Dean, tu êtes mal du français,” Castiel said, yawning widely and forcing himself to smile. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands. He didn’t want to do this today, have to deal with people. Even Dean. He liked Dean, he enjoyed spending time with him more than anyone else, more than Anna, but…not today. He just wanted to curl up in a ball and scream for all he was worth. He was tired and his head hurt and that phantom itch was prickling beneath his skin again.

“Oui,” Dean said, grinning. Castiel forced a small laugh in response. He had no doubt that Dean had understood that he’d just accused him of being terrible at French and was making fun of that fact. He wasn’t awful at it, he could figure out what something meant if it was in front of him, it was just speaking it that he found more difficult. 

Dean’s smile fell. He looked awful, his eyes were squinting away from the light of the classroom and he had dark bags under his eyes, he also flinched whenever anyone spoke too loud and Cas was pretty sure he’d already slept through most of his morning lessons. “Quel est…” he tried, giving up all of half a second later. “What’s wrong?” he said instead. Castiel shook his head, lifting it up out of his hands. Even that took excruciating effort.

“Por favor?” Dean said, trying to catch Castiel’s downcast eyes. “Wait,” he said after a moment, realising he’d just spoken the wrong language. He sighed at himself. “Talk to me, angel,” he whispered sincerely, leaning across the table and gingerly stroking his fingers across Castiel’s arm. A month ago, Castiel would have recoiled and maybe punched him for that kind of contact, but now he not only tolerated it but enjoyed it. It was comforting, a gentle reminder that he could trust Dean.

And he did trust Dean, kind of, but did that mean he should burden him with his problems?

“Please, Cas.”

“The house got repossessed,” Castiel sighed, finding himself without the energy he needed to resist Dean's stubbornness. 

Dean’s eyes widened. “What? When?”

“Last night,” he said, then continued before Dean could ask again. “When I got back we’d already been kicked out.”

The bell rang, shrill and high pitched. Dean groaned and covered his ears with his hands, murmuring about how inconsiderate having a bell as loud as that was, especially on a Monday. Cas smiled weakly and gathered all of his stuff, pushing it into his bag, not really caring about it being neat anymore.

“Where did you stay last night?” Dean asked as they followed everyone else out of the classroom and headed towards the quadrangle at a leisurely pace. 

“In a motel,” he replied, dropping his gaze to the floor, embarrassed. Dean didn’t respond. Castiel held back a sigh, he wished he knew what Dean was thinking, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. For all he knew, Dean’s internal monologue could be about how pathetic Castiel was; no need to waste your time with someone poor and unlikely to amount to anything due to the discrimination of society.

Dean pulled out his cell phone and started dialling, his fingers moving quickly between the buttons.

“Hey, Bobby?” he said, Castiel listened intently to the side of the conversation he could hear. “Yeah, sorry to call you at work but I have a favour to ask…just hear me out, okay?...Cas and his brother got kicked out of their house—”

“Dean!” Castiel squeaked, his heart dropping all of a sudden. He stopped dead in his tracks. Dean continued speaking without missing a beat and lightly hovered his hand over the small of Castiel’s back, not quite touching him or the wings folded beneath his layers of clothing, and coaxed him to continue walking in the direction of the centre table.

“—I was wondering if they could stay with us…I know it’s not ideal, but I don’t want them staying in that crappy motel. They’ll probably get cholera or something…Yeah…Awesome, thanks Bobby.”

“Dean!” Castiel said again, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Y-You don’t…I can’t—no, what?!”

“You’re staying with us for a while.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?” Dean asked, squaring his shoulders in preparation for an argument he already knew he’d win. "Give me one good reason why I should let you become homeless."

Castiel opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of a decent response. It wouldn’t be fair on Dean’s family, Bobby and Ellen had already taken in two extra mouths to feed in the form of Sam and Dean, he couldn’t ask them for more. Money would be an issue at the very least.

“How much?” Castiel asked with a sigh. Dean blinked twice.

“What?”

“I-I make about… a hundred and ninety dollars a week, I-I can only afford to give you about half s-so I can save up until we can rent a flat or something. A-And maybe--”

“Cas, stop.” Castiel slammed his mouth shut, his hands were shaking by his sides. Dean gently took them into his own. “All we ask is maybe do the groceries every once in a while, not leave laundry everywhere, rub our feet while we’re watching TV. That sort of stuff,” he said with a cocky grin.

“Dean--”

“It’s fine, Cas,” said Dean, brushing the back of his hand against Cas’ cheek. “We have a spare room for Gabriel, and, uh, you could share with me.” He bit his lip, smiling through it. His smile dropped a moment later. “Or…erm, I could sleep on the sofa if, y’know, you’d prefer.”

Castiel stared at the floor and ever so slightly leaned into Dean’s hand on his face. “What if I want to sleep with you?” he breathed, unsure if Dean would even be able to hear him. He couldn’t believe he’d said that, he didn’t even know if he wanted to. But when Dean’s face lit up he knew he’d said the right thing. He chuckled to himself. So easy to please.

* * *

On his way to work, Castiel sent Gabriel a quick text telling him the good news - or rather, just news. He wasn't entirely sure how Gabriel would react, he never liked relying on others much, but it wasn't like they had a great deal of choice in the matter. They couldn’t get the money they’d already paid for the room back from the motel, but he was just glad they’d be able to get out of there - Dean was right, it was disgusting in there. At seven, Dean picked him up from the shop in his Uncle Bobby’s truck - he had yet to pick up the Impala from the nightclub - and they drove to the motel. Fortunately, they hadn’t bothered to start unpacking yet so everything was still in those plastic refuse bags. Gabriel didn't say a word aside from the obligatory _thank you_ s during the drive. 

Bobby and Ellen acted like Cas and Gabriel staying with them wasn’t a burden at all, and like Dean had said the only thing they asked in return was for them to do the occasional grocery run and help clean the house every once in a while. They didn’t say anything about massaging feet, which Cas was grateful for. He hated feet. Ellen ushered Gabriel straight into the upstairs bathroom when she saw the slightly awkward angle at which his wing hung, and began taping it up after a quick Google search on her phone of how to do it properly. Sam had gasped when he saw the massive golden wings on Gabriel's back, and had stared in awe for several elongated moments until Gabe waved him over and let him touch the healthy one - to stop him gawking if nothing else - if he promised to be gentle.

Dean’s room was big. His bed was at the very least Queen sized, and it was pressed up against the wall so that there was only one side you could possibly get out of unless you wanted to leap across its vertical length. And it was soft. Dean said it was a memory foam mattress and that the pillows were made of duck down - necessary for assisting in the healing of his bruised and battered body, and Ellen hadn't mind handing out the extra cash it'd cost. It would definitely make a change from Cas' old stiff mattress. It was much tidier than he’d expected it to be - Dean informed him that he’d cleaned it specially. He’d also decided about half an hour before to play his VHS of _A New Hope_ for ‘motivation’ while they unpacked and every so often he’d stop what he was doing to stare mindlessly at the screen and make a witty comment about something that Castiel didn’t understand. It made him smile, he liked those comments even if he didn't have a clue what Dean was on about more than half the time.

“Dammit, Cas, what’ve you got in here? A dead body?” Dean asked when he hauled the last of Cas’ black bags up into his room.

“I can assure you that I carry no corpses with me,” he said flatly. "Nor have I committed any murders that I can remember."

Dean blinked a few times. “I just meant it’s very heavy.” Sometimes it was easy to forget that Castiel wasn’t the best at determining the difference between a joke and a serious question, but Dean was getting better at avoiding the use of figurative language lately. Dean untied the knot in the top of the bag and pulled out the first thing he could find. That just so happened to be an all-in-one copy of the _His Dark Materials_ trilogy – a whole thousand pages, and a damn heavy book.

“Books,” he said dryly, “shoulda known.”

Castiel half smiled and stood up, flexing out his back muscles and shrugging out of his trench coat. His wings were screaming to be set free, but that could wait. He glanced around Dean’s bedroom, the other hadn’t been living here long but already it was so obviously _Dean._ It even smelled like him - like that cologne he'd worn on their date on Sunday, and also a little bit like motor oil. 

Dean whistled to himself while he rooted through a couple of the other bags, just to see what was inside and decide where to put them all. He stopped whistling and Castiel turned, uncomfortable with the sudden change. Dean held in his hands a photo in a decorative silver frame.

“This your family?” he asked. Castiel nodded in response, he didn’t even have to look to know which photo it was – it was the one he kept in his room by his bedside. It had been taken in the garden on the old swing seat before he was born, that thing was a wreck now but it had been beautiful back then. In the middle sat his father with his arms around his heavily pregnant mother, a garland made of roses that Luci had made for her sat upon her head. She had her black wings wrapped around both her husband and a twelve year old Michael who sat by her side on the swing, with Luci, aged eleven, sat at his feet stretching her white wings as wide as they would go. Gabe, only nine years of age, was lying on the ground posing in a way only Gabriel could, a wide toothy grin on his face. Rachel, six, was perched on her father’s lap while Inias was trying to climb up the pole that held the whole thing into the ground. Anna, almost three, was sat on her mother’s lap, grinning as widely as she could manage and flapping her tiny wings like there was no tomorrow, the result being a little burgundy blur on either side of her body.

He’d memorised that picture long ago, and he knew every little detail like the back of his hand. 

“They look happy,” Dean commented. A jagged knife twisted inside Castiel’s chest.

“I know,” he said. He’d never seen them so happy in all the time he’d known them. They’d been close before but their mother’s death had torn that to pieces and nearly seventeen years later most of them hardly talked to each other on a regular basis. Castiel knew what the problem was: him, basic logic told him that. He tried not to think about that too much, though, because it made him seriously contemplate things like suicide. That would be useless though, killing himself wouldn't bring his mother back and repair his family's broken relationships. If it would, though, he would do it in a heart beat.

Dean crossed the room and placed the photo on his night stand beside another framed photograph. Castiel inspected it. There was a woman with long blonde hair and a baby in her arms sat next to her husband who was avidly trying to control the bouncing child in his lap. Cas smiled. Maybe Dean and Castiel were more similar than he’d thought, it seemed a mother’s death and a father’s grief had torn both of their families apart - a tale mirrored - but through entirely different circumstances.

Castiel felt Dean’s hands on his hips from behind as his head gently rested on top of the shorter boy’s shoulder. “Let’s stop unpacking now,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear. His heart began beating fast when he realised Dean was pulling Cas’ sweater off over his head. Dean obviously felt his anxiety because he began murmuring words of comfort into his ear: he wasn’t going to do anything that Cas didn’t want him to, just to relax et cetera. Next, Dean pulled off the t-shirt Cas was wearing underneath. Castiel shivered when Dean’s delicate fingers started stroking the contours of his bound wings. 

“They must be sore,” he said. Castiel nodded in one quick, jerky motion. Dean started slowly unravelling the gauze around his wings, and they shivered in response. When he was finished, Castiel unfurled them, shaking out the kinks in his muscles. A moment later he felt Dean press his lips to the base of each of his wings.

“Can…can you groom them for me?” Castiel asked in a low voice. Dean smiled his cocky half smile and began lightly combing his hands through Cas’ delicate feathers. He didn’t really know what he was doing so he settled for gently massaging his fingers in small concentric circles between the plumes. He must have been doing something right because Castiel’s eyes flickered shut and he started making a low contented humming sound, rather like the purr of a cat. Dean ran a hand softly across the bones of Castiel’s right wing, which trembled, and tenderly rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder again. Dean dropped his hands and rested them on the slight curve of Castiel’s hips, turning the boy to face him, and inelegantly dancing out of the way of the wing – they were practically nose to nose. Dean took a step back, sitting himself down on the bed with his back against the wall and pulling Cas with him and guiding him down so that he was straddling Dean’s lap. Castiel’s wings flapped anxiously.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Dean soothed, laying a tender hand on each of his axillaries. Dean continued to stroke the underside of his wings in that position, and Castiel eventually began to relax into Dean’s touch. He cautiously laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, dropping the other to rest against his chest and shuffled forward slightly so that their torsos were almost touching. 

A blush painted Castiel’s cheeks as he traced his fingers across the toned lines of Dean’s clothed chest and played with the hem of his shirt, slowly lifting it up. With a better view now, he cocked his head to the side and examined the bruises on Dean’s flesh and deliberately leaned down to place a kiss on top of a particularly angry looking scar. Dean twined a hand into Castiel’s hair and coaxed his head upwards to place a soft kiss on the tip his nose. With his other hand, Dean traced the curve of Cas’ lip with his finger and snaked his tongue out to do the same, ever so gently. Castiel stiffened and flapped his wings twice in agitation, but he didn't move. Dean must have missed the warning signal because just a split second later his lips came crashing down onto his. Castiel beat his wings again and abruptly pulled away from Dean’s lips, trying to repress an embarrassing squealing sound, and scooting as far away from Dean as he could manage without leaving the boy’s lap.

“I’m sorry,” Cas sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling his wings closer to his body so he could comb a few of the feathers between his fingers - it was a great deal more comforting than scratching at his side.

“S’okay,” Dean said smiling, but Cas could see his wounded pride behind his eyes. He tentatively rested his hands on Castiel’s thighs and sheepishly shuffled out from underneath him, moving so that he was leaning against the headboard rather than the wall. He lay down on top of the duvet and opened his arms, an invitation for Castiel to join him.

“Come on, angel, they’re about to rescue Princess Leia,” Dean said, a wry smile on his face, attention stolen by the movie playing on the television screen.

Castiel continued to picked at his feathers as he crawled across the bed to lie down in the crook of Dean’s arms, folding his wings so that one was pressed close to his back and the other, not restricted by Dean’s side, was spread out across the mattress. He trailed his fingers along the warm skin of the arm that cradled him and his eyes slowly flickered shut.

He startled awake what felt like a split second later and scurried away to the other side of the bed, closer to the wall, pressing the flat of his palms against it to be sure it was really there. He glanced to the window; it was dark outside, and the lights were off inside as well. Wherever inside was. He didn’t recognise any of this – it wasn’t his room. The motel? No, it couldn’t be. Panic rose in his throat and he keened over, pressing his forehead against the mattress and trying to contain a high pitched squeal. Wherever he was, it was different. Different wasn't good, wasn't safe. His skin crawled and his wings twitched spasmodically. 

“Cas?” someone asked. His head shot up and his wings unfurled angrily, feathers standing on edge in a display of aggression – it was Dean. Only Dean. Dean hated him. _No,_ Dean was his friend. He remembered now, he was at Bobby and Ellen’s with Dean, he and Gabriel were staying there because they’d lost the house. He rubbed at his temple and relaxed a little, he was perfectly safe here. Safe. New, different, _safe_

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he murmured, his throat hoarse from the exertion of suppressing his shrieks. 

Dean shook his head dismissively. “Coming back to sleep?”

Castiel chewed on the inside of his cheek and hesitantly lay down on his back where he was, and spread out his wings by his side. He saw the momentary flash of hurt in Dean’s eyes and instantly felt guilty. It was dark and he was nervous, terrified butterflies still flitted around in his gut, and he didn’t want to see Dean’s hurt expression again so he flopped over onto his front and turned his head in the other direction. He spread his wings out tentatively so that one was resting, just slightly, over Dean's chest. He relaxed considerably, the tension seeping out of his muscles, when the other boy began to gently caress his feathers, and drifted of into a comfortable sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote: Sex On My Face is an actual cocktail. As is Sex With An Alligator. Who knew?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little warning, this chapter contains bad language and also use of the c-word. So...you've been warned.  
> Tut tut, Dean and his potty mouth.

Tim Fiveash drove his shiny blue Toyota Prius into the parking lot at the back of Coffee House and shut off the engine. He straightened his tie – Ralph Lauren – and buttoned up his suit jacket – Ted Baker – before combing his hair over to one side with the little comb he kept in the glove box. He hadn’t been into work all day and it was just past seven in the evening. He should be able to get in some financing and sign for the order of freshly ground coffee beans then head back home before eight. Maybe he could pick up something for little Jack on the way – he’d probably already be asleep by the time he got home but his little grey eyes would light up the next morning when he saw that Daddy had gotten him a present.

Tim, Boss to people who knew him, managed thirty coffee shops in the surrounding Kansas area, but this little one in Lawrence was by far his favourite. It was close to the house he shared with his fiancée Maggie and his six month old son just outside of the town’s borders, and it was quaint. He knew all six of the employees by name – Tay, Raj, Castiel, Liam, Marion and Finn (otherwise known as Cook) – and felt that they trusted and liked him as a manager. He had none of that hubris that most managers had, and that was something he prided himself on.

He entered the shop through the back door and walked round to his office, surprised to find Castiel waiting by the door. He liked the kid, he might have been shy and awkward and not the best at serving customers with grace but he showed promise, he had the potential to go way further than being a barista at a small shop in Kansas. Maybe if he got out of this town he’d go further – Tim didn’t like or agree with the stigma against wings but what could the kid do about it? He couldn’t change the world by himself, and there simply weren’t enough winged people and supporters around to take on the bigots by force. 

“Didn’t your shift finish?” he asked the boy, who looked up from wringing his hands together with wide scared eyes. Tim made a mental note to somehow announce his arrival in future, the poor kid looked petrified.

“Y-Yeah…but I-I was wondering if I could talk to you?” he said, avoiding eye contact. From a business perspective, the boy’s only problem was his difficulty interacting with people (which, unfortunately, was a big part of the customer service industry) but other than that he was one of the most efficient workers Tim had ever had the pleasure to employ. He'd never admit that he'd taken the boy on out of pity, but it turned out that he'd been a reliable investment so he could gloss over that part.

“Sure, it’ll have to be quick, though.”

“I-I can come back tomorrow if you’re busy?” said Castiel, dropping his eyes to the floor and looking more than a little embarrassed.

“No, no,” he said, holding the office door open. “Come on in.”

Castiel glanced around a finally time as if looking for an escape route and slowly entered the office, quickly followed by Tim who clicked the door shut and took a seat on the window sill behind his desk.

“Have a seat, son.” Castiel nervously complied. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I was wondering…s-since you’ve been so nice about my, uh, thing i-if you could maybe give my brother a job here.” The boy said it so quickly, the words becoming all jumbled together, Tim couldn't be sure he'd heard correctly. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, Castiel must have misread the gesture because his eyes widened and he instantly started to backtrack. “I-I’m sorry, sir, I, uh, I don’t m-mean to be rude it’s just…n-nowhere else will take him and we lost the house a-and--”

“Castiel,” Tim said. Castiel stopped talking and stared at the mahogany of his manager’s desk with watery eyes. “Your brother has wings like you do, am I correct?”

Castiel nodded. He’d known this wouldn’t work, for most places it didn’t matter whether you covered up or not – the mere stigma of the fact that you had wings on your body was enough for them to be discouraged from hiring you. After Boss had been so generous in letting him keep his job despite his state, for even hiring him in the first place even though he was nothing more than a socially awkward adolescent, he was now trying rather unsuccessfully to push his luck. He should have counted his blessings before coming here.

“I don’t see why not, we’re a little short staffed anyway.” Castiel looked up to examine Boss’ face (not that it helped him decipher much) in disbelief. He couldn’t possibly have heard that right. “But promise me one thing…well, two things.”

Castiel nodded jerkily.

“Obviously he’ll need to cover them,” he stated, moving so that he was sat on the chair behind his desk and leaning across the table slightly so that he was closer to the boy. “Secondly, if he starts working with me – I assume it’ll be full time, yes? – I want you to stop working so much.” Castiel worked so much as it was, no high school kid should be the main provider for his family, even if that family consisted of just him and his older brother. It wasn't right, and if he was giving Gabriel a job he wanted Castiel to take the time to be a normal kid.

Castiel’s face contorted with horror. “Y-You’re cutting my hours?” he said. Tim didn’t miss the slight quiver of his bottom lip. Oh God, he could have worded that better. No need to make the kid emotional.

“You're currently working twenty one hours a week, which is more than most universities recommend for their students. You’re in high school; God knows how you’re keeping on top of your schoolwork. You have another job as well, correct?”

“Yes, it’s j-just a paper round, though. I was thinking about starting to work nights as well if anywere will take me a-and if you’re reducing my hours then--”

Tim sighed. “You’re, what, sixteen? You should be having a life not spending all your time behind a counter. It’s not healthy, you shouldn’t have this much pressure on your shoulders.” 

Castiel didn’t respond and just focussed on trying to steady his shaking – he couldn’t break down here. He knew he had asked too much of Boss, but it was obvious to anybody he wasn’t the best worker and the stigma of his wings was obviously affecting business. It was only a matter of time before Boss cut his losses and Castiel would be out of a job. He was probably only humouring Castiel by saying he’d give Gabe a job, and even if he did he’d probably stick him in the back doing something for minimum wage - if that. The minimum wage for a winged person was much lower than that of a normal person, but Boss had been nice enough to keep Castiel's pay consistent even after the secret got out.

“For now on you’ll maintain your current hours for Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I’ll put you on the ten til’ four shift with Tay on Saturdays. We’ll try that for a while and if you want to cut them further afterwards we can sort that out. Oh, but I want you to take tomorrow off – I’ll give you paid absence. Send your brother in tomorrow at eleven o’clock sharp, I have a meeting at twelve so he’d better not be late.” Tim paused and smiled at Castiel. “I’ve been looking for a new PA, anyway.”

Cas’ mouth dropped open. A PA? He must have heard that wrong. Boss was going to interview Gabriel for a job as his PA – as in _personal assistant?_ That was practically a career, a constant income and enough to get them back on their feet in no time. 

“Wh-What? Why…?” he stuttered. He wanted to demand to know why Boss was being so kind. Suspicion rose in Castiel’s gut, people didn’t just act like this out of the goodness of their hearts unless there was something in it for them. Mankind was a selfish species, and that was something he’d learnt the hard way.

Boss seemed to consider something for a second, before standing up and shrugging out of his suit jacket and placing it carefully over the back of his leather swivel chair.

“Can I show you something?” he asked. Castiel narrowed his eyes suspiciously, glancing at the abandoned suit jacket.

“S-Sure…” he said cautiously, bracing his hands against the arms of the chair prepared to bolt if things turned sour. Slowly, Boss began untucking his shirt from his suit trousers and unbuttoning a few of the lower buttons. Castiel floundered awkwardly, trying hopelessly to think of something to say – _what the hell was he doing!?_ Boss turned around and lifted up the back of his shirt – Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting to see some sort of creepy gang sign tattooed on his back – to reveal what was there. Castiel’s mouth dropped open. 

He blinked rapidly – his eyes must have been deceiving him, for there on Boss’ back he could see the tips of two large tawny wings, bound as his own were. Boss was winged, just like he was. Castiel stared in awe, unable to comprehend what he saw and ignorant as to how to react. It made sense now why Boss had been so nice to him, he understood better than anyone else could; maybe not so much about the other stuff but definitely about the hardships of living with wings. 

"There are more people like you and I in this town than you'd think." Boss turned around and buttoned up his shirt, tucking it in again but leaving his suit jacket off. “Now, I have some financing to do so if you don’t mind,” he said, smiling fondly at Castiel. It took a moment for Boss’ words to register in Cas’ mind before he stood up, awkwardly thanked him and left, his mind still reeling with thoughts he couldn't quite comprehend.

The second Castiel walked through the door to the Singer household, he had a key now, twenty minutes later Gabriel pounced on him. Castiel squeaked loudly and jumped against the wall, hurting several of his limbs in the process. He could barely hear himself think over Gabriel’s nervous rambling and incessant asking of questions Cas would ultimately get to. Only when Gabe’s speech, if you could call it that, had run its course did Castiel speak. 

“Y-You’ve got an interview, tomorrow at eleven,” Castiel said, still in a slight daze. Gabriel’s eyes lit up. “H-He wants you to be his…PA.” Gabriel’s mouth dropped open, just as Castiel’s had done, at the revelation.

“ _What!?_ Why? I mean--”

Castiel was silent for a moment. “He…has wings,” he whispered, wondering if he'd somehow been hoodwinked. There were other people with wings in this town? Where were they? Who were they? Castiel was overcome with a violent curiosity, he wanted to find them. That could wait, though, if they wanted to keep their secret like Castiel had done then it was not his place to try and out them. He'd have been frustrated if someone had tried to do that to him.

“Who does?” Jo chimed from places unknown. Gabriel muttered something incoherent and quickly disappeared from the hallway, giving way to Jo who was stood in the doorway to the living room. Castiel rolled his eyes. Jo smiled.

“Want me to help you with your wings?” she offered.

“No, it’s my turn!” Sam whined, suddenly dashing to join them in the hallway from the adjacent living room. Castiel swallowed anxiously. During the week or so he and Gabriel had been living here he’d slowly become accustomed to leaving his wings out to stretch. They’d both be staying here for a while and the limbs would become sore and weak if they were kept in the same position all day every day with the exception of sleeping so he’d figured, after some coaxing from Dean, that he might as well just let them out. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose anymore.

Jo and Sam’s awe over them had been somewhat comforting, but Bobby and Ellen had yet to say much about them, he suspected that was more out of courtesy than anything else. In fact, on the rare occasion that Dean let them, Jo and Sam liked to argue about who could groom them for him that night. Neither of them did a particularly good job of it, and he never let them do it for more than maybe a minute, but it made them happy and stopped them nagging him for the rest of the evening.

“It’s f-fine I can do it myself,” Castiel whispered before beginning to head up the stairs to the room he shared with Dean. At first Bobby and Ellen had been cautious about that particular set up, both being fully aware of Dean’s reputation, but after Dean had confirmed (all too nonchalantly for Cas’ taste) that they were taking things slowly and reminded them that at least there was no worry of unplanned pregnancy they cooled off a bit.

“Dean’s not here,” Jo remarked, bounding up the stairs after Castiel and managing to catch him in the hall. “He took some shifts at the garage.”

“Oh,” said Cas, slightly disappointed. “When will he be back?”

“By eight,” Jo said distantly. “Hey, wanna see my knife collection?” Her face lit up with an excited grin.

“I have to, erm, call my sister,” Castiel said, more than a little terrified. He didn’t really know what a knife collection should contain but it sounded far from safe. He really didn't want to go there, he had no doubt Jo could beat him in a fight if it came to it.

“You do that and I’ll go get my knives!” Castiel opened his mouth to politely decline but she was already gone. It looked like he had no choice but to humour her. Sighing, he walked into his room and sat on the bed. He peeled off his layers and the gauze around his wings and pulled on one of his old, overlarge shirts that let his wings hang loose from the top. He flapped them a few times to ease out the kinks before letting them hang loosely at his sides. He dug around in his coat pocket for his phone and clicked on Anna’s name in his contacts. It was quarter to eight, so she should have finished her designated schoolwork for the evening – Anna often left the later part of the day for more social things so she didn’t get completely swamped with studying.

“Hey, Cas,” Anna said when she answered, sounding as if she had a mouth full of food. She probably did, she’d told him that she’d been eating nothing but cookies and crappy ready meals since she started university and they left something to be desired which meant she was almost constantly eating. She would gladly trade it in for Gabriel’s cooking any day, which was saying something.

“Hello, Anna,” Castiel squeaked – it didn’t matter how often he called her, speaking on the phone still made him nervous. It was inconvenient to say the least. But Anna was more important, he could get past his anxieties if it meant keeping in contact with his favourite sibling.

“How’s the living situation?” she said, disapproval evident in her voice. He made a mental note to get back at Gabriel for telling her that he was currently sharing a bed with Dean every night. Some things needed to be kept on a purely need to know basis, and this had been one of them. Anna appreciated what Bobby and Ellen had done for him and Gabriel, but it didn’t mean for a second she had to like it – she was still convinced that Dean couldn’t be trusted one bit. She was very protective of Castiel, and with good reason to be. People tended to see him as weak and walk all over him – to her he was still barely more than a little kid. 

“It’s good,” he said, waiting patiently for her onslaught.

She grumbled. “I don’t know, Cas, I still don’t like it.”

“It’s not like we’re doing anything,” he whispered, blushing a luminous shade of pink. He didn't like talking about this stuff, especially with his sister. It made him feel dirty and shameful - he knew it was pathetic, but he just couldn't help it.

She thought for a second. “How long have you been together?”

“I don’t know…”

“Say from the hospital…that was, what? A little over a month ago? I’m assuming if he’s a decent human being he hasn’t shagged anyone since then.” Castiel’s blush increased and he stared at the floor. Anna sighed as if she could sense it through he telephone. “My point is, Cas, he’s gotta be horny and it won’t be long until he either starts straying or pushing you. If you want to do it with him, that’s great but make sure it’s your decision and he’s not messing with your head.”

Something close to terror washed over Castiel. One day, in perhaps the not too distant future, he’d end up doing it. _That._ He didn’t want Dean to get fed up and sick of waiting for him and kick him out or leave him for someone else – he wasn’t even sure if this classed as a real relationship, but either way it was something fairly close. Relationships meant sacrifices, right? So he'd have to do it, for Dean, and it didn't matter if he was entirely ready or not. The thought of Dean leaving made a lump rise in his throat, he didn't want his first actual relationship to end in a horrible mess because he couldn't hold it together. Besides, how bad could it be? He’d caught himself thinking about it a few times, accompanied by a funny sensation in the pit of his stomach, but the thought of _it_ actually happening made him queasy. Dean was so experienced, with both guys and girls, while Cas had never even kissed anyone before Dean. He was more virginal than most nuns.

Before he’d even realised it, the question was on his tongue. “Er, Anna, what was he like?” he said as quietly as he could muster, hoping she hadn’t heard it. Even thinking the question had made him more than a little ashamed of himself.

“W-What?” she stuttered, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “Oh…well, I guess he was alright…” Castiel narrowed his eyes at nothing in particular and tightened his grip on the phone. Almost as if she was somehow aware of his speculation, Anna continued. “Actually he was pretty freakin’ amazing. _Damn._ ” She cleared her throat gracelessly and said no more. Castiel smiled slightly, he hoped that was a good thing. If Dean was as good as Anna was implying then maybe it wouldn't be too bad, all he needed to do was be able to get past himself, which he was sure he could force himself to do with a little bit of effort. “Well, I have loads of essays to write so I, err, better be off…”

They said their goodbyes just as Jo came into room with a large wooden box. It couldn’t have taken that long to find it, and Castiel had no doubt that she’d been outside the door listening intently. He hoped she hadn’t heard too much, because she’d probably run along and tell Dean and the resultant conversation would be far too awkward for Castiel to deal with. She placed the box down on the bed and opened the top. It had several compartments and layers which Jo pulled out, and the inside was entirely lined with red velvet. Castiel’s eyes widened in fear – there were a lot of knives in there, all of which were polished to perfection. It probably took Jo a lot of work to keep them all looking so pristine.

“This is my favourite one,” she said pulling out a little silver knife with a pentagram carved into the base of its serrated blade. Castiel jumped backwards, she swung them around so carelessly, it couldn’t possibly be safe. He was surprised he'd never taken anyone's eye out with those things.

Cas tried his best to disguise his nervousness around the knives and pretended to look interested. He made a mental note never to piss off Jo, because she’d probably stab him repeatedly after beating the crap out of him with her bare fists. Castiel all but jumped for joy when he heard the rumble of the Impala (quickly followed by that of Bobby’s truck) and swiftly darted out of the room – any excuse to get away from those knives – down the stairs and into the landing where Dean and Bobby were just walking through the door. He barely had time to slow down and ended up slamming straight into Dean’s chest.

“Whoa,” Dean laughed, steadying Cas before pulling him into a hug which he happily returned. Hugs were good, along with hand holding, those were the things he found himself now being able to do with Dean (as well as Gabriel and other non-threatening people when the occasion prevented itself) without a great deal of anxiety. Anything else was more difficult, but he was pleased with his progress and some nights he even snuggled into Dean’s side, adoring the feel of his warm embrace protecting him from invisible monsters. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I was just showing him my knife collection!” Jo announced from the top of the stairs, frowning at Castiel’s lack of enthusiasm. Dean laughed and slung an arm around Cas’ shoulders, pulling him close to his side. Castiel leaned into it slightly, letting his head flop against Dean’s shoulder. Who’d have thought physical contact could feel so good and not totally panic-inducing? 

“You probably scared him shitless,” Dean chuckled, placing a kiss on the boy’s unruly dark hair. “Speaking of,” he continued, keeping Castiel close, “Josh is having a Halloween party by the lake on Saturday. You should’ve gotten a text about it.”

Jo pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans – barely deep enough to hold it at all – and her eyes lit up as she read the text from Josh Hewitt. Jo loved parties, they almost always ended up with her and Meg battling to see who could down the most shots before throwing up. She, Jo, was the reigning champion.

“Will Kara be there?” she asked. Dean shrugged. He doubted Josh would invite Kara himself after their horribly messy break up, but he knew she’d somehow find out about it and arrive on Saturday with the intent of making Josh as jealous as she could. Jo _hmm_ ed and continued. “It says everyone’s invited so she’ll probably turn up.”

“You should come, Cas,” Dean said. Castiel instantly shook his head in response. Dean’s other friends hated Castiel’s guts, and he often overheard them making snide remarks about him. They didn’t try to hide it particularly well. Large crowds of drunken acquaintances and him didn’t generally mix. Nightclubs - or rather that one particular nightclub - he could handle, he didn’t know anybody there he wouldn’t be forced to schmooze with them unless it was to assist Dean in ordering peculiar cocktails. “Please,” Dean begged, holding Castiel at arm’s length so the boy could see the attempt at Sam’s puppy dog eyes he was making - a mediocre effort at best.

“I’m not sure the invitation extends to the likes of me,” he said flatly.

“It does if I say it does,” Dean groused in response. Castiel shook his head again. “Come on, angel, is there something I can bribe you with?” Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“Dean, I’m not going,” he said firmly. Dean nodded sadly, and he let it drop. At least until the next day.

At school he’d slip a few comments here and there trying to convince Cas to go with him, and he barely had time to congratulate Gabe on his trial run as Boss’ PA before Dean was at it again on Wednesday night the very second they both walked through the door. By Saturday morning, Castiel was about ready to either give in or put his head through a wall.

“Do you really not want to go, Cas?” Dean asked, all hints of mocking or begging gone from his voice, while Castiel was binding his wings to go to work. Castiel didn’t answer. He hated how disappointed Dean sounded, but the thought of going terrified him. He was getting stronger, and slowly learning to overstep his anxieties (though never dispelling them all together) but that didn’t mean he wanted to relinquish all control. He felt horribly guilty, Dean was trying his best and he was giving him hardly anything in return – it wasn’t fair on him.

“If you don’t I’ll stop bugging you,” he decided, a sheepish expression on his face. He knew he’d been acting unreasonable about this party, and it had only dawned on him this morning that there might be other reasons besides Cas thinking that people didn't like him that Cas didn’t want to go. God, he was an idiot. It happened sometimes though, occasionally he caught himself slipping into being too forward and pushy and having to talk himself back round from acting like a dick and taking advantage. Castiel was too important to let go just because he, Dean, couldn’t control himself. He couldn't let himself ruin this. He’d never felt anything close to this - whatever _this_ was - before, and definitely not for a guy. The closest thing he could think of was Lisa, one of the few people he'd ever genuinely liked, even though it had turned out to be pretty short lived in the end.

 _If Dad ever found out_ , he chewed on his lip, swallowing the thought and casting it out of his mind. His father wasn’t here, and quite frankly this had nothing to do with him. All Dean knew was that he wasn’t going to let Castiel slip through his fingers because of his own lack of self discipline. He'd have to get over it, it didn't matter how much he wanted Castiel to give into his advances, because none of this was about him. He'd just have to remember to clean the pipes more often so he didn't get too ahead of himself.

“If you truly want me to, then I will join you,” Castiel said simply, staring at his intertwined hands. He didn’t like that sad tone in Dean’s voice, the one that screamed that he was blaming himself for something that was definitely not his fault. Castiel didn’t even register it on a conscious level, but the back of his mind hinted it at him – Dean had helped him so much and done a great deal for him, the least he could do was repay the debt and make some sacrifices for him, too.

“I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to," said Dean. "Dammit, I’m such an ass.” He pounded his thigh with his fist and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands. Castiel was pretty sure he saw Dean digging his nails into his temples, it was as if he was purposefully trying to hurt himself.

“Dean,” Castiel said as softly as he could muster. “I will go with you.” He placed a hand on Dean’s arm and tugged his hands away from his face.

“Are you sure? Because if you don’t want to that’s cool, too, and--”

“I want to,” he said, only partially lying. He didn’t want to spend the evening on his own with Gabriel and Sam. The two of them argued like children and a part of Castiel – Gabriel had called it something to do with the honeymoon stage – wanted to be close to Dean all the time, or as close as he could get without feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he was jealous or anything, but he didn’t like the idea of him being alone with his other friends. It wasn’t a secret that they didn’t like Castiel and if they were bad mouthing him then Dean might realise his wasted efforts and decide to leave him for someone else. He knew it was selfish and probably ridiculous to even think that, but he liked to evaluate options and that was a prominent one that had a distinct likelihood of actually happening and it put Cas on edge. Dean’s friends might have been dumb but they weren’t stupid, and they wouldn’t say anything about him if he was there right by Dean’s side for most of the night. 

“Will it be obligatory to wear a costume?” Castiel asked, forcing himself to smile. Dean’s own lips turned up at the edges. Cas already knew the answer to that question – yes. He’d spent the best part of the last week watching Dean flitting between outfit choices. Bobby had remarked that he was behaving like a woman. Ellen had cuffed him upside the head for that one, and Jo had kicked him rather forcefully in the shin. In the end Dean had decided to dress up as a sheriff. All that really required was his usual plaid shirt, jeans and boots with the addition of a crappy badge he'd bought for a dollar and on old cowboy’s hat he’d found in the attic. 

“You could go as an angel,” Dean said, “halo and everything. I bet you’d look adorable.” He smiled widely. Castiel rolled his eyes.

“I have to go to work,” he said matter-of-factly and, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned in and placed the ghost of a kiss on Dean’s cheek. He didn’t miss the slight blush that painted Dean’s face. Despite the dip in his pay, he rather enjoyed having his hours shortened because it meant he could spend more time here. 

By the time he got back from work at four, Jo was already well underway with applying her makeup – usually she didn’t wear a lot of it, but she was applying it in order to make her at least slightly resemble a leopard. When she emerged from her room at six, she looked far more feminine than even Dean had ever seen her before. She’d borrowed some of Ellen's old stiletto boots, some dark black jeans, a leopard print top and some cute ears.

She’d made more of an effort than either Cas or Dean had, that was for sure. Cas’ costume wasn’t really much of a costume – it simply consisted of one of Gabriel’s white button-down shirts with holes for his wings in the back and a halo on his head. It unnerved him, going out in public with only a single layer on – tonight would mark the first night he’d ever had his wings on show outside of the house since he was about four. Dean couldn’t get enough of them; he was constantly stroking and massaging them, and Cas wasn’t complaining. It was comforting, and Dean's fingers felt nice against the sensitive feathers at the base of his wings..

“I’m not sure about this,” Castiel murmured. Leaving the house with his wings on show? It seemed like a death wish if he was honest. He was an outcast as much as it was, why rock the boat any further? Sam had suggested it. He’d read a book in the library about how winged people could adapt to society – one of those crappy ones written by professors with long titles and several awards but absolutely zero real life experience. He’d managed to get Dean to jump on his bandwagon as well. Castiel knew that they were only trying to help, and he’d agreed to let them – he felt safe with Dean, and he’d been slowly convinced not to care what the others might say – but he was starting to regret that now.

“You look…” Dean trailed off. His pupils were so large and dark that nothing more than a thin circumference of green could be seen of his iris. “Wow,” he concluded. Castiel avoided his eyes, compliments were always hard to accept. Even now he felt like Dean was lying whenever he said something like that. Dean sometimes spoke as if Castiel was some sort of godly creature, and he sometimes caught Dean looking at him as if he couldn’t believe his luck. Cas didn’t get it, it made no sense. He was nothing special, in fact he was less than special. Nevertheless, he tried not to question it too much - he'd make the most of it while it lasted.

“Dude, he’s right. You’re smokin’,” Jo said, clapping him on the back and causing his wings to ruffle with shock. 

Castiel thought for a second before grabbing his trench coat from where it hung by the door. It was almost like a security blanket, if he became uncomfortable he had the option to cover his wings. Besides, he always felt uneasy when he didn’t have it near him – it didn’t even matter if he wasn’t wearing it, he just liked to have it in sight so he knew where it was. He’d had the thing for a long time, he’d found it in a closet when he was twelve (apparently it had belonged to his maternal grandfather) and had never let it out of his sight since. 

“I call shotgun,” Castiel said the second the three of them stepped out of the front door.

“Dammit!” exclaimed Jo, stomping her foot in irritation. Castiel had witnessed this occur far too many times, this was the first that he’d beaten Jo to it. He wasn’t going to spend yet another car journey stuck in the back seat. 

The sun was just beginning to set when they arrived by the lake. Dean parked on the gravel by the old Lakeside Cabin and led Jo and Cas – the latter by the hand – towards the party. Music was blaring, but the lake was far enough away from the nearest houses for them not to get the police called on them – that’s why this was such a popular party spot. It was also surrounded by trees which meant it was pretty sheltered from the bitter breeze. 

Castiel didn’t miss the turn of heads and the widening eyes when the partygoers caught sight of him and Dean approaching. Mainly him. And his wings. 

“You made it!” Josh called – he was dressed as Leatherface – with several cans of beer clutched rather impressively in his hands. Dean dropped Castiel’s hand for a moment to give his friend a manly hug and a slap between the shoulder blades, which was somewhat awkward since Josh was more than a head taller than him. Josh chucked a beer at all three of them, but didn’t give Cas a second glance. He’d done it more out of politeness and desire not to piss Dean off than anything else. Dean appreciated it, even if his motives were completely wrong. Josh was a good friend, one of the better ones of the group, and Dean would rather not have to give him up because he was being a jerk, but that’s what he’d do if it came to it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed Meg standing by the old wooden beer keg. He sighed. She was giving him and Castiel evil daggers from across the distance.

“Hey, man, I’ll be back in a sec. Gotta ask Meg something,” he planted a quick kiss on Castiel’s nose before jogging over to Meg – turning back to give a brief warning look to his friend. He needn't have bothered. Luckily, Jo stood between the two boys. It looked like she was making an effort to include Cas in whatever conversation she and Josh were now having.

“What is your problem, Masters?” Dean hissed.

“I dunno what you’re talking about, honey bee,” she retorted with an equal amount of venom. She finished filling up her paper cup with beer and began walking off in the direction of the lake.

“I know you hate Cas, okay? But can you try, just for one night, to not be an insufferable bitch.”

“I’m not sure I can manage that, baby doll,” she said sarcastically. Dean growled low in his throat, she was really starting to piss him off. It was one of the things Meg Masters did best. If she didn’t watch it he’d end up doing something he definitely wouldn’t regret. “Look, Dean, if you want to know why I can’t stand the guy look at the facts.”

“What facts?” Dean sneered. “That he has wings? Because if that--”

“No, dumbass,” she snapped. “I don’t care that he’s a vasen, disgusting as that is, you can fuck as many damn hegoduns as you like. See if I care!”

“Then why are you so--”

“Dean!” she shouted. “You’ve ditched us for him! Before the start of this year you had no idea who he was and now you’re giving up everything for him? Even us. Dude, we've been your friends since sixth grade.” She didn’t look hurt, she looked pissed as hell. He guessed it made sense. But Cas meant a lot to him, and was one of the only real friends he had besides Jo, Ash and maybe a few others if he was in a good mood. The rest of them, even Josh, were just along for the ride – Meg was no exception to that rule. The jealousy was evident across her features, she didn’t give a shit about Dean ditching his so-called friends for him. What bothered her was that to Dean she was nothing more than a quick shag. Not even that any more.

An evil smirk grew on Meg’s face. “You haven’t even fucked him, have you?” Dean glowered. Meg laughed. “You’re dumping us, your friends, for some lousy hegodun who won’t even put out. Some boyfriend. You’ll get tired of waiting soon, but don’t come crying to me when you do.”

Dean snarled and grabbed Meg by the collar of her Devil costume, shoving her violently against the nearest tree. “I would rather wait a decade for him then go near your filthy cunt again,” Dean whispered malevolently. Meg’s mouth dropped open and she slapped him sharply across the face.

“Hey!” Josh yelled from behind Dean. He grabbed Dean’s arm just as he was about to knock Meg on her backside. “None of that, ya hear me?” he threatened, moving so he was standing between the two of them. Meg bared her teeth at Dean like a ravenous hell hound but turned on her heels, going to stand by Kara who, sure enough, had turned up, most likely with the intent of making Josh jealous. Going by the seething look on Josh's face when he caught sight of her, she was succeeding.

Dean wished he could say the rest of the party went off without a hitch, but he’d be lying. People gave Castiel vile sideways looks and spat horrible comments at him for most of the night. Dean retorted with a few threats and after a while Josh stepped in and told them if they were going to act like assholes, they could leave. Always the diplomat. After a few beers everyone relaxed, Josh let his hair down a bit and stopped taking charge of everyone. Once the alcohol was flowing and everyone was much calmer, the night improved significantly. By midnight Jo had made out with Jake Wilson, much to everyone else’s horror and disgust, Kara had made out with everyone, Castiel had lost his halo, Russ Wiley (a senior boy and one of Josh’s close friends) had somehow managed to swallow – and choke on – half an apple, and everyone had moved to diving in the lake, completely ignoring the abundance of _No Swimming_ signs.

“Race you to the lake!” Dean called, already way ahead of Castiel, chucking his now empty seventh can of beer on the floor as he ran. Castiel followed suit, but he was only on his fourth. Turned out he was either a lightweight or seriously unable to handle alcohol. He guessed it was the latter. Even the two beers (and half a cocktail) he’d had at the nightclub had given him an almighty buzz, but this rush was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Dean climbed up onto the rock they were using as a diving board and sprung into the water, curling in on himself and landing with a massive splash.

“Dean!” Cas called, not sure whether to laugh or scream. Dean’s head popped up a moment later but Castiel was already mounted on the boulder and halfway through hurling himself off of it. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have dared, but the far from sober illogical part of his mind was screaming that Dean needed to be saved from the horrible creatures in the water. Even if those horrible creatures were only fellow teenagers.

He flapped his wings haplessly on the descent and landed in the water with an almighty _SMACK!_ which vibrated through the area. Everyone laughed, but for once Castiel didn’t feel like he wanted to run and hide. He wanted to join them. So he laughed with them. The lake was deep, but he beat his wings gently under the water and kicked his feet to stay afloat. It never really dawned on him that he’d never been swimming before, but some instinct in the back of his mind told him how to keep floating. He spat the water out of his mouth and felt Josh clap him on the back, the smile on his face completely genuine.

“You ain’t half bad, kid, for a winger,” he said, Castiel smiled back at him appreciative of his less offensive slang term. At least he hadn’t called him a vasen. He retorted by lifting his wing out of the water and batting Josh around the head with it.

“Cas!” Dean screamed through his laughs. “Don’t drown, I’ll save you!” he yelled, earning a series of laughs from the surrounding people. He dove under the water and swam beneath the surface to grab Castiel around his thighs and scoop him up over his shoulder. Castiel let out a high pitched scream of shock at the new development, but made no move to stop it. Dean continued swimming through the dark water, with Castiel firmly in his grip, until they reached the bank.

Castiel flopped down on the muddy bank, not caring about the stains it would cause to Gabriel’s shirt – they would wash out – and laughed into nothingness. He’d never felt so free or untroubled in his life. He decided he liked the feeling of being drunk, despite the fact that it severely impaired his judgement. There were no anxieties here, he felt as if he could do anything at all. He could climb a mountain, fight a tiger or become the first winged president in history and he’d never feel a slice of pressure. He loved it.

“Cas, what’re you laughing at?” Dean said, dragging the other boy to his feet. Upon seeing the elated look on Castiel’s face as he fell against his chest, Dean couldn’t help but start laughing too. “You big freak. Come on.”

He pulled Castiel over to where the car was parked.

“Nooooooooo!” Castiel moaned, his head sagging limply against Dean’s shoulder. “We can’t leave, Dean.”

“We’re not leaving, we’ll jus’ clean ya up a bit,” he said mischievously, grabbing Castiel by his waist and lifting him up to sit on the hood of the Impala, intending to reach into the back for the towel they'd brought along. Castiel wasted no time in keeping Dean close, trapping him by wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist. He shuffled forward so that he was almost falling off the edge of the bonnet, with only Dean’s broad chest to support him. 

“You’re all wet, Dean,” Castiel commented, a sly smirk on his face. Dean couldn’t help but let his hands trail across Castiel’s dripping wings, and he slowly leaned in to place the slightest hint of a kiss just below Cas’ earlobe. Castiel’s wings shivered with something that Dean hoped was pleasure as he continued to trail kisses across Cas’ neck and jawline. He revelled in the little _uhn_ sounds Castiel was making and he buried his fingers deeper between the boy’s feathers. 

A guttural moan escaped Castiel’s throat when Dean’s lips finally came crashing down onto his. He wasn’t sure what came over him – probably something to do with the copious amount of alcohol in his system – but half a second later he was responding to the kiss with more vigour than he ever had before. He pulled Dean closer to him and snaked his tongue out to meet Dean’s. He could do anything! He settled down slightly and let Dean take control again, after all Dean was better at this than he was. Dean's mouth was hot and overwhelming, his hips were rocking ever so slightly against Castiel's, and his hands were everywhere at once. One moment they were in his hair, then they were on his back and Cas violently jerked when a hand traced up his inner thigh. _No,_ he didn't want Dean to touch him there. Usually the signal would be enough to make Dean take a step back, or at the very least let Castiel take the driver's seat in where they went with things.

But Dean didn’t stop. Panic rose in Castiel’s chest, he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t do this now, he didn’t want to. But now Dean’s hands were sliding under his shirt and exploring the planes of his chest while his mouth still worked vigorously at Castiel’s lips. Cas didn’t know what to do, so he just let his body shut down. His spine was straight as a rod, his hands limp and lifeless at his sides, despite his slight shaking, and he just let Dean kiss him without any reaction. He was nowhere near strong enough to get Dean off of him by force – he felt utterly hopeless. He distantly noticed his eyes fill with tears and bile begin to collect itself in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to be back at the house – his house – and sneak into the room that had once been his parent’s and hide at the bottom of the closet. He hadn’t done that in years, after his father had left there was nothing left of his mother’s in that closet and it felt kind of pointless. He wanted to go home. He wanted his mother. He wanted to feel safe, usually the combined presence of the people at Bobby’s house was enough to make him feel protected but now he felt more alone than he had in years.

A soft whimper escaped his throat and a few traitor tears slipped between his eyelashes. Dean stopped and leaned back. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, sure Dean was about to lash out at him. Not physically, but verbally. His father had only slapped him a handful of times, mainly sticking to verbal reprimands and insults when chastising his son, so he wasn’t particularly afraid of that. Verbal insults, he was sure, were much worse. He couldn’t see Dean, but he heard his sharp intake of breath and felt the boy take a step back away from him.

“God, Cas, I’m sorry,” he said, no hint of a slur in his voice. He’d sobered up pretty quickly. Castiel let a few more tears slip down his cheeks before he brushed them away and drew in a hitched breath. Dean ran a hand through his hair and ground his teeth together. “Cas, if I’m doing something you don’t want me to you need to tell me to stop,” he said, sounding angrier than he’d intended to. Castiel’s lip trembled and he hung his head. Dean carefully placed a hand on each of Castiel’s shoulders. “Cas, look at me.” Castiel shook his head miserably and a small distraught sob slipped through his lips. Dean tenderly wiped away Castiel’s tears with his thumb. He wasn’t sure what to say, a dark part of his mind wondered how many times he’d pushed Cas too far and not noticed. He felt horribly guilty – he wanted Castiel to trust him, and that couldn’t happen if Cas was constantly afraid of Dean taking things too far. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas whispered brokenly. Dean closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Castiel’s.

“Don’t be,” said Dean softly, “If I ever take things too far don’t be scared to say no, okay? I’d never do that on purpose, you understand me? I guess I just forget myself sometimes.” Dean took a step back and took a deep breath. Figuring Castiel had calmed down a little bit now, he jumped up to sit on the hood next to him and gingerly outstretched his hand.

“May I?” Castiel nodded and Dean gently took Cas’ hand and pressed it lightly to his lips. “Want some candy?” he asked. Castiel chucked half-heartedly and Dean pulled some soaking wet gummy bears from his pocket with his free hand.

“Open,” he said. Castiel did, and Dean plopped a red gummy bear into his mouth. He could hardly contain his elation at the small gesture, regardless of his mess ups, Castiel still trusted him. The fireworks started a few moments later, he wasn’t sure why fireworks were necessary on Halloween but it didn’t really matter much. He sat next to Castiel, both of them feeling at complete ease once again now that they were eating candy and watching the fireworks. After about ten minutes Dean laid his head on Cas' shoulder. Castiel smiled. He wanted to skip around and jump for joy. Dean didn’t think he was stupid or pathetic; in fact he was still sat next to him irrespective of everything that had just happened. He still wanted to be here. He smiled wider and twisted slightly so he could place a gentle kiss on Dean’s hair.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It got a bit (a lot) sloppier towards the end, I'm sorry, I'm ill don't hurt me, I tried.

Castiel’s popularity rapidly increased, for the most part, following his antics at the Halloween party. Not everyone took to him right away, however. But most of the people who’d previously ignored and sniped at him were now smiling at him in the corridors and talking to him during lessons, some were even exchanging gossip with him and treating him like they hadn't estranged him only a week ago. Dean was pleased with his success, he knew the party would be a good idea – everyone knew Cas better now, and once they realised that he was more than just the freaky loner kid with the wings and not the stuck up, antisocial bastard they believed him to be, people warmed up to him pretty fast. They quickly found he was much less sociable when he was sober, but they were willing to let that slide for a little while. Dean even tried explaining how Asperger's worked to some of them, but he realised pretty quickly that he didn't really know a great deal about it - he made a mental note to ask Cas about it when he got the chance. But for now, he simply told them that Castiel's tendency to behave in a way that seemed weird to them was completely out of his control. They seemed to grasp and accept that concept pretty decently.

That didn’t mean that everyone regarded him as at least a friendly acquaintance, though. Meg despised his new found popularity and wanted nothing more than to throw Castiel off the throne he now shared with Dean. He was more than just a sidekick to Dean now, he was his own person. Meg didn’t have a lot of luck with her schemes; they included spreading vicious rumours that would make anyone’s blood curdle, tormenting him when Dean was out of sight and all round just trying to break the boy. She didn’t have much luck, though, as she was one of the few people in the school who hated Castiel’s guts and wasn’t afraid of Dean or what he could do to someone who messed with him or his boyfriend. He’d started using that word to describe Cas, now. It made Castiel blush. It made Meg want to vomit. Needless to say her grand plan began to dwindle very quickly.

For the following week, party gossip travelled the halls like wildfire, and the main topic on their lips aside from Castiel was Jo’s game of tonsil tennis with none other than Jake Wilson. Nobody was letting her forget it. One or two irritating high school kids she could manage, but an entire grade was enough to make her avoid the confrontation and pray they’d get bored sooner or later. That was becoming increasingly difficult with Wilson, the very object of her non-existent affections, following her around like a little lost puppy. At one point, on a particularly chilly early November morning, even the principal came up to congratulate her on her lip locking with his son, albeit extremely sarcastically. It seemed Wilson had been doing nothing but talk about her at home as well. If she’d realised that he’d been secretly harbouring a crush on her for the past two years she never would have drunkenly kissed him. Probably. He calmed down and left her alone to resume his career of moping and beating up freshmen after she threatened to chop his balls off and make him eat them. There had been enough fire in her eyes for him not to question it and back off.

Sammy enjoyed the gossip, and most of all he loved teasing his housemates about it. Much to Jo’s frustration Bobby and Ellen soon joined in on his little game and every night at dinner the three of them would corner her and demand to know how her ‘little boyfriend’ was doing. Before long the news had gotten around the middle school, too – it was shocking how much those kids revelled in high school drama – and she had a bunch of twelve year olds come up to her in the street and ask her why she’d made out with that ‘big ugly jerk’. Occasionally she'd bang their heads together, since they often came in twos, while other times she'd simply trip them up on the pavement.

Despite this, middle school gossip seldom made its way into the grounds of Lakeside High so when Dean started to notice a change in Sam, he had no idea what to credit it to. When they were in the Impala the boy stare longingly out the window as if he were lost in some sort of dream or was imagining he was part of some bad teen pop music video, he’d even _sigh_ occasionally. It was ridiculous - and hilarious! Dean tried taking digs at him, but nothing would work to drag him out of his reverie. The kid was on cloud nine and nothing, not even Dean’s jocular insults, could bring him down. It was about two weeks later when they were finally given an explanation.

“Guess what!” Sam shouted the second he jumped into the backseat of the Impala – the passenger seat was now reserved for Castiel – one Wednesday afternoon in the middle of November. The twelve year old didn’t give either of them a chance to guess before he started excitedly bouncing up and down like an energetic five year old and began retelling his story. “Jess asked me to be her boyfriend!” he cheered, fully expecting Dean to congratulate him. Instead, Dean scoffed.

“Wait, she asked you?” asked Dean, smirking at Sam through the rear view mirror. “Dude, lame.”

Sam’s eyebrows knitted together and he frowned. “I was going to ask her myself, but--”

“But you’re a dork,” Dean accused. He noticed the slight glint in Sam’s eye that told him his mockery was working – damn, it was far too easy to wind that kid up when he let him. He’d missed nearly a whole two weeks of being able to get jibes like that past his little brother and he had some catching up to do. Castiel sighed and shook his head when the two brothers began to argue some more; he found it was best to stay out of it whenever they started bickering like a pair of toddlers.

“Am not!” Sam yelled. Castiel closed his eyes and tried his best to focus on the surrounding environment of Lawrence, it was going to be a long evening.

He was right. Luckily, he only had to deal with them once he got back from work that evening but by then everyone had just about had enough. The two of them didn’t shut up until Bobby threatened to get out Ellen’s wooden spoon and whack them with it if they didn’t can it. That shut them up. Dean’s eyes lit up impishly when Ellen suggested that Sam invite Jessica round for dinner one night. In fact, she insisted on it until Sam physically couldn’t resist anymore.

So, on Thursday evening, Jess came round. She was a pretty girl with long, curly blonde hair and a friendly round face. Sam demanded that everyone try to make a good impression on her so that she wouldn’t think he had a weird family and walk out the door halfway through dinner. He was pretty serious about it, and even suggested that they use the expensive china and spent a good ten minutes trying to drown out the smell of leather and oil in the house with air freshener. Bobby helped Ellen cook a lamb casserole – he really wasn’t much help at all, but it tasted delicious. Dinner was a nightmare, for Sam at least. The rest of them enjoyed it but after about ten minutes the twelve year old was just about ready to jump off a cliff. After Sam shot them a few warning glares Bobby, Ellen and Dean stopped trying to tell embarrassing stories and let him try his best to act cool. It didn't really work that well, but they decided to let Sam have his one small success.

After dinner, Sam dragged Jess up to his room so they could finally have a conversation to themselves – Ellen called up after them, warning them not to do anything that wasn’t age appropriate and Dean shouted something way too carnal for a pair of preteens to hear, earning himself a scuff upside the head from Ellen and a shoe thrown at him from Sam. 

“Help me clear the table, darlin’,” Ellen said, squeezing Dean’s shoulder to let him know he was forgiven for being a brat. He rolled his eyes, he'd done them last night and it was Sammy's turn, but he knew better than to argue. Bobby, Gabriel, Castiel and Jo left the two of them to clear up and went to play poker in the living room – Castiel was getting pretty good, but Gabriel had yet to get the hang of it and Jo won almost every game. The ones she didn’t win, Bobby did - he'd never admit it but he liked to let his adopted daughter win, otherwise he'd have smoked them all.

Dean grabbed the china plates from the table – they looked damn expensive, Bobby hadn’t been sure about using their wedding china but Ellen had insisted that it would make them look more sophisticated, and Sam had been dead set on them appearing as such – and started washing them up in the sink while Ellen cleaned up the kitchen and put the pans and trays away in their correct places. Dean hated washing up, especially when it wasn't his turn, but he didn’t complain – he’d always had to do the majority of the chores when his dad had been around, and doing so without complaint often made his father less angry when he did a mediocre job of it. He tried not to think about John too much, and he was afraid to admit to anybody that he missed him. He was his father after all, and despite his flaws he’d been a pretty good dad. He taught Dean how to spar and shoot and get a man in an inescapable headlock. Everything Dean knew, he’d learnt from his ex-marine father – who was now on the run from the police because of him. He ground his teeth together; it frustrated him more than anything. 

His mind was miles away, filled with thoughts of his dad. He pulled the plates out of the sink and rinsed them. He made a half-hearted attempt at drying them off and went to put them in the cabinet. However, they were still dripping wet and, due to his lack of concentration, they came slipping out of his grasp and landed on the linoleum floor, smashing into tiny pieces.

Ellen jumped back, shocked at the unexpected sound. When she turned to see what had happened she seethed with anger, she’d specifically told Dean only moments ago to be careful with those dishes; she’d suspected he hadn’t been listening or had chosen to ignore the warning. She was just about ready to lay into the kid but Dean’s obvious trepidation made her anger fade away – the poor kid looked scared to death. 

“Dammit,” Ellen said, more because of the look of horror and guilt on Dean’s face than anything. Dean’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened with dread. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that. His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t make them stop. Panic shot through his spine, and his head started spinning. He briefly wondered if this was how Cas had felt when everyone had found out about his wings. No, Dean was just overreacting. John had always told him he did that a lot. 

“Oh, God, Ellen. I-I’m soh-orry,” he mumbled, a slight hitch in his voice. He blinked the moisture out of his eyes, he wouldn’t cry. It’d been years since he’d cried because of an impending punishment, even when he knew he deserved it. He’d guessed it’d been so long he’d become sloppy and started to lose his self-control. He’d been wondering when the other shoe would hit the ground and he’d finally get what he had coming to him. He guessed that that day was going to be today. Ellen and Bobby had both threatened to whack him with the wooden spoon on various occasions, even since before he started living here. It was their weapon of choice, though he’d never seen them actually use it – he didn’t imagine that either Bobby or Ellen were shy to corporal punishment, they just handled it differently to his dad, in a more commonly acceptable way. He figured it couldn’t hurt more than his father’s belt and he’d be able to stick it out completely dry-eyed as long as the guilt didn’t get to him too badly. The pain he could take, it was the remorse that affected him the most.

“It’s just a few plates, hon,” Ellen said as steadily as she could manage, her eyebrows furrowing together. “Don’t worry about it.” But Dean was worrying about it. He’d already dropped to his knees and was picking up the broken little bits of china, not caring when the sharp edges cut into his skin due to his inability to control his quivering hands. He ignored the stinging cuts and the faint trickles of blood that covered his hands, _he was such a freaking idiot_ , and he knew that he deserved far worse than a few bloody scratches caused by smashed plates.

“I’m s-so sorry,” Dean stuttered again, continuing to collect pieces of the porcelain which were scattered all over the kitchen floor. Ellen grabbed the dust pan and brush from where it hung in the corner and helped Dean sweep the bits and pieces up, all the while he didn’t quit apologising and couldn't get a handle on his shaking. 

“Ellen, what happ’ned? Heard somethin’ smash in here.” Bobby said as he wandered into the kitchen, picking his teeth with a cocktail stick after another victory. He saw the remaining bits of blue and white porcelain on the floor and slowly put the pieces together. “Is that our wedding china?” he asked, sounding more than a little incensed. Dean kept his eyes firmly trained on the floor and the little bits of plate that were still scattered around. He couldn't bear to look up and see the look of disappointment that was surely there on Bobby's face. That was always the worst part, the thing that made him feel more useless and culpable than the crime itself, knowing he'd let down someone who trusted him. 

“It was,” Ellen said, irritation plain in her voice. Dean drew a hand across his eyes as subtly as he could, willing the wetness to disappear. He felt pathetic and hopeless and guilty, he wished they’d just punish him and get it over with so he could go and sulk like a moody child. He took a deep breath, he was prepared. He knew he deserved this. If he was lucky maybe they'd even forgive him afterwards. 

Ellen mouthed something at Bobby that Dean didn’t quite catch, he saw Bobby’s eyes narrow in confusion at her words. Realisation dawned upon him a moment later and he nodded in understanding.

“Dean, honey, go wait in your room. Me an' Bobby need to talk, I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said in a low but clear voice - he knew better than to mumble - scrambling to his feet and sprinting upstairs to his room. He made sure to click his door shut as quietly as he could manage, he didn’t want to earn himself any extra licks. He was thankful to be in his room, it was better than being disciplined where people, especially Cas, would be able to see him. The thought of Castiel seeing him get punished made him feel sick to his stomach, he didn’t want Cas to think he was pathetic and incapable of following simple instructions. Would Cas leave him once he realised what a shameful excuse for a son, and a friend, Dean was? He'd had the nerve to believe maybe he was improving and it would be a little while longer before he had to be disciplined again. Clearly, he was wrong. All the thoughts and feelings he’d spent the last month and a half trying to suppress were resurfacing, erupting through his mind like an insatiable volcano. He wanted to scream and have a tantrum like a toddler, but instead he just dug his nails into the palm of his hand and blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes.

When Ellen walked in a few moments later Dean jumped to his feet and swallowed the lump in his throat. He considered pleading with her to go easy on him, but that had only ever angered his father and he wasn't willing to risk getting a more severe punishment, even though he knew he needed as much in order to teach him a lesson. He'd done some pretty risky stuff since he came here, trying to see what the regulations were like in his knew home, and he'd found they were pretty fluid compared to what he was used to. Still, he'd never done anything as bad as this before. Bobby and Ellen's wedding plates were smashed to pieces, completely irreparable, and it was entirely his fault. He could make as many excuses as he liked, but none of them would matter because it all came down to him. 

“Sit down, hon,” Ellen said. He immediately obeyed and she smiled sadly at him, taking a seat next to him. It was as if she hated having to do this. Dean felt awfully guilty, he couldn’t have just listened and not forced this to happen - not forced her to do something she so obviously hated doing. It was his own stupid fault, but it was for his own good. “You gonna tell me what’s eating at ya?”

“What?” Dean asked, utterly confused. “I-I mean, I don’t know what you mean, m-ma’am,” he corrected when he realised he’d sounded like a disrespectful child. Ellen put an arm around him and pulled him into her side. He revelled in the contact, breathing in her warm scent - she smelled of home and comfort and safety, and he found himself relaxing slightly in her arms.

“You’ve been on edge a lot lately, and today’s probably the worst I’ve ever seen it. Bobby and I thought it might just be adjustment issues and it’d go away on its own. Guess we shoulda talked to you about this sooner, huh?”

Dean narrowed his eyes, he didn’t understand. He noticed then that Ellen didn’t have the spoon in her hand like he’d expected her to. Maybe she was planning to use her fists, Dean had no doubt she could throw a hell of a punch.

“Aren’t you gonna…?” he asked, his eyes darting nervously. He felt awkward asking, but he couldn’t not know if he was going to get a licking – or a spooning, or whatever you’d call it – or not.

Ellen smiled weakly and shook her head. “Dean, you’ve had it rough and we don’t wanna make it any worse for you. We’re not gonna hurt you here, ‘kay?”

“But…the spoon…?” he prompted. He was confused as hell. It’d been so much simpler with John – Dean did something wrong then he got punished for it. Here he felt like he was constantly walking on eggshells, never knowing what would earn him a whipping - he refused to call it a beating - and what wouldn’t.

She laughed. “It’s more of a…symbolic thing. I can count on two hands the amount of times I’ve actually used it.” Dean thought, he supposed that was right. Despite her threats, Dean knew that Ellen preferred much more conventional methods of discipline. She was strict, especially on Sam seeing as he was the youngest, but on the rest of them, too. A week ago she’d confiscated Gabriel’s, erm, romance magazines and grounded him to his room for the rest of the evening for leaving his dirty clothes on the floor. He’d spent the rest of the night sulking, after all grown men didn’t get grounded very often. The most she’d ever had to do with Dean up until this point was give him a stern look every now and then, maybe a threat to ground him and nothing more, the same with Jo. No disciplinary action had been necessary with Castiel, the kid was good as gold. Sam was the difficult one, he was always testing the waters and pushing boundaries. In fact, he was nearly always grounded and so far had been the only one to get a round with the spoon – just a few swats but it had been enough to curb his behaviour for the next few days at least. According to Bobby that’d been the first time she’d used it in a good few years. 

“What’re you gonna do with me, then?” he asked meekly. He’d always hated having to ask that question, but patience had never been his strong suit. He just wanted to get it over with.

“You’re grounded to your room tonight and tomorrow night,” she said simply. He nodded. He’d expected much worse than that, after all he had broken irreplaceable china plates because not only was he stupid and careless, but he’d also ignored a clear order. “By the time Saturday morning comes you’ll be completely forgiven,” she said, and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Really?” he asked, she nodded sincerely. Suddenly, he was excited. He couldn’t wait until Saturday morning. If Dean had broken his own parents’ wedding china he’d never have heard the end of it, let alone be forgiven after less than forty eight hours. He considered for a moment, could Ellen be lying? That china was more than just expensive, it also had sentimental value and now it was completely ruined. “Are you sure? I-I mean, you can use my belt if you want," he said, reaching down to unbuckle his leather belt. His father had usually used his own belt for discipline, but on the occasion where he really wanted to make an impression, he used Dean's. He felt it was far more emblematic.

"Stop," said Ellen in a voice thick with authority, laying a hand on Dean's forearm to halt his movements. “Bobby and I talked about it; we decided you’d have punished yourself enough by Saturday. Now, gimme your phone.” Dean sighed, as much as he appreciated Ellen going easy on him (and as much as he didn't understand it) he'd hoped she would just let that slide but the woman was nothing if not thorough so he handed it over without further discussion. It was only two days after all, and it wasn't like he couldn't survive without hearing from his sort-of-friends.

“What about Cas?” he asked. If he was stuck in this room by himself except for school then he was pretty sure he’d go insane. He hated being inactive, it was boring if nothing else. Isolation was an effective punishment for him, and Ellen knew as much, but it didn't offer him a way to forgive himself in the same way a beating did. He could only spend the next two days listing his sins repeatedly in his brain until he was acquited.

“We haven’t said he can’t come in here, it is his room too after all. We’ve just advised that he stay out as much as possible. Ultimately it’s up to him, though.” Dean nodded, hopefully Cas wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. He could see himself going stir crazy over the next two days. “Get started on your homework, kiddo,” Ellen said, squeezing him one more time before getting up to leave.

“Ellen,” Dean called as she was about to leave. “Thanks.”

“No problem, squirt,” she teased before closing the door behind her.

* * *

Those two evenings grounded to his room were pure torture. On the first day he could hear the laughter echoing up the stairs, and the childish giggles from Jess and Sam across the hall which made his insides ache. He tried to take a nap, but the harrowing thoughts which plagued his mind just wouldn't let up, so instead he stared at the ceiling and thought about how much he wished he could cut the impurities out of his soul. Castiel didn’t come in until nine, saying he’d had a lot of fun playing card games with everyone and was trying his best to stay out of Dean’s way like Ellen had instructed. Cas could tell that Dean was miserable, so tried to cheer him up with a kiss or twelve - which worked wonders, by the way.

That was something that Dean was starting to enjoy; Castiel was slowly becoming more open and honest, as well as less freaked out by physical contact. It was just practice really, the more he did it the more he wanted to. They hadn’t gotten past second base yet, but Dean reckoned that by the time the year was out they’d have zoomed past it and would be well on their way to third. A homerun might take a little longer, but Dean was fully prepared to wait. With Castiel he’d learnt to appreciate the little things that made a relationship special that he’d never really cared for before. He’d be perfectly happy waiting another five years before they started bumping uglies. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be that long though, or his hand would start to become insufficient in sating him.

Depending on his mood, Castiel went at different paces. Sometimes he was happy to go almost as far as starting a little something-something below the belt, and other days he could barely do more than hand holding. It was inconsistent, which was a little bit frustrating at times, but it wasn’t like he had much control of it. Dean didn't blame him, it would have been easy to do just that but it wouldn’t have been fair, so Dean didn't.

On Friday after school Dean was allowed to drive Cas to work – but not pick him up afterwards – and drive straight home afterwards. He'd been warned that aside from dinner and bathroom breaks he had to stay in his room. It was boring as hell. He had a TV in there, but Ellen specifically forbade him from watching it and he wasn’t prepared to disobey for fear that his punishment would suddenly become so much worse. He could barely believe that he was being let off so easy to start with.

He’d finished all his homework by half five, and he spent the following hour lying face down on his bedroom floor napping. Or rather, trying to. Again the insufferable thoughts refused to leave his head, and he had to try extremely hard to prevent himself from screaming into the carpet or running downstairs and begging Ellen or Bobby to hit him, to make it all better. Pain somehow made it easier to cope, it hurt but it also relieved him. He thought very seriously about finding something to hurt himself with so he could feel some sort of release, but he forced himself to stay on the ground. Part of his punishment was denying him the relief that he craved so much. He tried to distract himself by concentrating on the sounds of the house, the hum of the heater and the pipes between the floorboards. He heard Cas and Gabe get home just after seven and tried to listen through the floorboards what they were talking about. They were ordering pizza. A horrible thought entered his mind – what if they forgot about him, caged up here all alone? He couldn’t leave the room unless specifically asked to and going to bed hungry sounded like about the worst addition to his punishment possible. 

He guessed it would make sense, though: he smashed the dinner plates so now he couldn’t have dinner. He couldn't blame them, he told himself that he deserved it so he might as well just suck it up and take it graciously. Not half an hour later the pizza delivery guy arrived, he tried to peer out of the window to see how many boxes the boy was carrying but he wasn’t at a good angle to see much. He returned to his place on the floor and leaned against the wall, trying not to think about the sudden grumbling of his stomach. Maybe he could convince Cas to sneak something up to him? He was just about to go downstairs and beg on his knees for pizza – screw his dignity and his promise to take it like a man – when Castiel entered the room with a pizza box and a clear plastic tub full of salad. 

He placed the boxes on the floor before shedding his layers and swapping his shirt for one far friendlier to his wings. He sat, cross legged, opposite Dean and flung open the lid to the pizza box, announcing:

“Pepperoni and barbeque sausage.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Castiel smiled at him warmly, but it faltered a moment later, giving way to an expression halfway between irritation and confusion. “Ellen says if we don’t finish that salad then we’re grounded for life.”

Dean wrinkled his nose. Spinach, pepper slices, cucumber, cherry tomatoes and lettuce. It wasn’t too bad, but he was pretty certain he’d rather eat rocks than cucumber. Castiel popped the plastic lid and picked up a little round tomato and plopped it into his mouth. It wasn’t long before they’d polished off the pizza, and only the odds and ends of the salad remained.

“Please, Cas, just eat the cucumber.”

“You already made me eat the spinach. It tasted like soil.” He pulled a face. “Besides, I’m not the one who’s grounded,” he added with a smirk. Dean glowered at him. 

“Can we share it?” he asked hopefully with a mockery of Sam's puppy dog eyes plastered on his face. Cas sighed but agreed, he wasn't stubborn enough to win a petty argument with Dean. He was taken aback when Dean put the cucumber slice into his mouth so that half of it was sticking out and smirked playfully around it. Castiel could practically hear the flirtatious _come and get it, angel_ that Dean was screaming with his eyes. He sighed dramatically, giving up, and leaned over to bite into his half of it. He tried to swallow it as gracefully as possible but failed miserably and ended up choking on it. Dean laughed at first but then began to pound his fist between Castiel’s shoulder blades (while avoiding the rapidly beating wings) while the boy coughed and spluttered until the vegetable was dislodged from his throat.

When he was done choking he flopped down on the bed and breathed in deeply, taking advantage of his fully functional airways, and blinked the water - a remnant of the choking fit - out of his eyes. Dean lay next to him, propped up on his elbow, and stroked his hand across Castiel’s chest, seeing how close to his belt he could get before Cas started quivering.

“Do you need me to take care of you, little bird?” he asked naughtily, trailing his eyes across Castiel’s body in a way that was definitely not acceptable in polite company. Luckily, they were alone. 

“Unfortunately,” Castiel said nonchalantly, “my recent near death experience hasn’t exactly put me in the mood.” Dean smiled in defeat and relaxed, lying down next to Cas and gently stroking his feathers. After a moment or two Cas chuckled. “Why don’t you go and have some alone time with your hand and some tissues?” he suggested, simpering. 

“What?” Dean asked, shocked. Cas was hardly ever so upfront with things like that, he tended to tip toe around them like every other awkward situation. 

“I feel like you would benefit from it,” he said, flitting his eyes down to where their legs were intertwined and Dean’s crotch was pressed against Cas’ thigh – a very prominent bulge beginning to form there.

“Shut up,” said Dean, slightly embarrassed. He hadn’t even noticed it. “I’m a sixteen year old guy. We get boners at bad times. Don’t tell me it’s never happened to you,” he said, slightly more defensively than he’d intended.

Castiel shrugged. “I’d offer to help, but I wouldn’t really know what to do,” he said coolly. Dean was about to laugh at the statement, thinking it was a joke, when he remembered that Castiel wasn’t really fond of jokes. Mainly because he didn’t understand them. Going by that logic, it must’ve been true. Dean's mouth dropped open.

“What? Like…so you’ve never even…?” Dean fumbled. Castiel shook his head. “Dude, seriously?” Castiel chuckled. “Maybe I could…teach you?” Dean said in a low, seductive voice as he started to make tiny little rutting motions against Castiel’s thigh.

“Down, boy,” Castiel said smoothly, a sly smirk on his face – Jo had probably taught him that one. He slapped Dean’s hand as a reprimand, causing him to pout like a rebuked child. Dean stilled his hips. 

“I better, erm, go…” he mumbled, untangling himself from Castiel’s legs and vacating the room. Dean’s room was right next to the bathroom, if he’d wanted to Cas could have easily pressed his ear against the shared wall and listened, but he thought that although Dean would definitely not have minded it would be a massive breach of privacy and a little bit awkward if he was caught. He'd have to save his curiosity for another time.

When Dean returned a few minutes later he could barely keep his eyes open, and he collapsed on the bed where Castiel was texting.

“Have fun?” Cas asked, trying not to smile. Dean was practically glowing - Cas couldn’t even make out his murmured response. It must have been a good few days since Dean had had some alone time.

“Who’re you textin’?” Dean mumbled into the mattress.

“Luci,” Cas answered. “She thinks her boyfriend might propose soon.” Recently Castiel been trying to improve his relationship with his siblings, it’d been tough at the start but he found he had more confidence lately, and texting was still far easier than talking on the phone. He’d been finding out things he never even knew about them. He found Luci was the easiest to talk to, she was far more mature than he remembered, but she still had a talent for acquiring gossip and had told him that recently Michael had been having alcohol problems and a string of one night stands – scandalous. He doubted the truth of that statement, but despite Luci's tendency to exaggerate at times, she was ultimately an honest person. She never felt the need to lie, but simply twisting the truth was an entirely different matter. Michael himself was much more difficult to talk to, since he found himself too busy for all of his siblings except Luci. He only ever responded with basic answers via text and only out of politeness. Rachel and Inias were fairly easy to talk to, and they welcomed his effort with open arms. 

“What’s he like? You ever met him?”

“Once. Last Christmas, but they’ve been together nearly four years. His name’s Nick. He’s nice, I guess.” Castiel said, he got a new message and sighed when he opened it. “Luci likes to take photos of herself,” he sighed, handing the phone to Dean so he could see the picture message. The photo featured Luci and Nick pulling faces into the camera and a little brown Pomeranian baring his teeth at them. 

“That dog looks like a giant hairball.”

“He’s the devil.”

“What?”

Castiel looked at him with sincere eyes, he was definitely not joking about this. “They named him Satan.” Dean burst out laughing.

“Aw, that’s adorable! As if that thing could hurt a fly.”

“You haven’t been bitten by it,” Castiel grumbled, frowning at the memory. He’d had to get a tetanus shot after that thing had attacked him – it hadn’t been pleasant. At least the little monster had been named well.

“Luci looks nothing like you,” Dean commented. 

“No, none of them do really. Most of them look more like Dad, except Michael and Inias with the dark hair but even they don’t really look like…” Castiel said, trailing off. 

“Your mom?” Dean prompted. Castiel nodded. Dean reached over to grab the photo of Castiel’s family from the nightstand and looked at it. A moment later he nodded to himself. “She does look like you…scarily.” The corner of Castiel’s lips twitched up in a smile, people always said that. Whether they were his mother’s friends and relatives or people who happened to see the photos of her and spot the similarities but people always felt the need to comment. Dean’s eyes brightened up as he placed the photo next to the one of his own family – he had an idea. He didn't know if it was a good idea or not, but he was impulsive and spontaneous enough not to care too much. “Tomorrow, we’re going out.”

“Where?” Cas asked.

“It’s a surprise.” Castiel tried to get it out of him, even resorted to lightly punching Dean in the arm until his hand started to ache with the repetitive motion but Dean was stronger than iron. After half an hour of fruitless attempts Castiel decided that Dean wasn’t allowed to touch his wings for the rest of the night until he told him, but he quickly gave up when he realised by doing that he was probably punishing himself more than Dean, and that really wouldn't do.

Eventually Cas got fed up and jumped on top of Dean, pinning his shoulders down against the mattress and straddling his hips. Dean could probably easily sit upright, but he didn’t want to. An electric shock of something between fear and excitement shot to the pit of his stomach. Cas wasn’t using much force, but being restrained like this was enough to make Dean’s pupils dilate.

“Are you going to tell me?” he said in an emotionless voice, but his eyes betrayed his shrewd thoughts. Dean pressed his lips together and shook his head defiantly. Cas smiled and flopped down on top of Dean, resting his head against the boy’s heart. If he wasn’t mistaken he could hear it’s heavy beating steadily speed up. Dean gently stroked Cas’ hair and wings and Castiel closed his eyes and began humming his song; he found himself singing it a lot more lately. He heard Dean sigh. He’d probably been expecting…something…something that Cas wasn’t prepared to give him right now. He just wasn’t in the mood – it came and went at various intervals. “Does it bother you, Dean? That I don’t…” he mumbled while he traced little circles Dean’s chest over the soft grey t-shirt he was wearing. Dean shivered when Castiel’s finger grazed over his nipple – he did mind, then.

“’Course not,” he said, the hand that was in Cas’ hair sliding down to rest against the small of his back where his spine began to curve into ass. Castiel didn’t believe him for a second, it was stupid to ask the question when he already knew the answer. Dean could lie all he wanted, but Cas knew the truth. Castiel didn’t know a lot about teenage boys considering he was one, but he was almost certain that ones like Dean (man whores, Jo had called them) needed a little more action than most. And it’d been a while for Dean, and like Anna had said he must be horny as hell. Castiel could initiate something as a kind of show of good faith, but he knew that Dean wasn't happy with him doing things because he felt he had to. That was a massive no-no. 

But Dean deserved someone who was willing to put out for him. He couldn't understand it. He knew the basic math - teenage relationships weren't serious, much to his dismay he had to accept that his partnership with Dean might not last as long as he wanted it to, and what boys like Dean wanted from it was sex and someone who was able to give them that. Castiel wasn't one of those people, so why was Dean here, lying beneath him?

"Stop it," Dean mumbled, letting his eyes slowly drift closed.

"Stop what?" 

"You're thinking bad things again," Dean said. "You're all tense and that happens when you're nervous. You have nothing to be worried about." Castiel smiled and leaned up to kiss Dean's exposed collar bone before lying against his chest again and resuming the little circular motions with his finger.

* * *

Dean woke up on Saturday morning to the delicious smell of bacon attacking his nostrils. He pushed himself into a sitting position and disentangled himself from Castiel, who was still sleeping soundly with his wings spread out on the mattress behind him. He placed a kiss on Castiel’s temple and practically sprinted down the stairs – he was free! – and straight into the kitchen where Ellen was cooking breakfast. His mouth watered at the beautiful smell.

Sam was sat at the breakfast bar with Bobby, both of them were reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. Sammy pulled a face every time he took a sip, he was far too stubborn to admit he actually hated the stuff. Dean would get him to admit it eventually, even if it killed him.

“Mornin’, hon,” Ellen said, sensing Dean’s arrival.

“Morning, Ellen,” he retorted, leaning against the doorway, a little nervous to enter. He flickered his eyes between the two adults, he figured it couldn't hurt to apologise once more. “I’m really sorry about the--”

“Can it, ya idjit,” Bobby interrupted. “You’re forgiven.” Dean stared at the floor and nodded. It didn’t feel like enough, he’d broken something irreplaceable and they were letting him off the hook so soon. It didn’t seem fair, but at the same time he didn’t want to push his luck. Disrespecting their authority probably wouldn't bode well for him, he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, even though they assured him his punishment was over.

“You want your eggs fried or scrambled?” Ellen asked without turning her attention away from the several pans she had on the stove in front of her.

“Scrambled, if you don’t mind, ma’am.”

“Scrambled it is. And don’t call me that, makes me feel old,” she said, turning her head so he could see the wink that she sent him. He chuckled.

Castiel came down not ten minutes later, he always woke up pretty soon after Dean had left the bed if he wasn’t the first one up – a part of his subconscious noticed that there wasn’t a warm presence by his side anymore and it always pulled him out of his trance. By the time Dean left to drive Cas to work, Jo hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet and Gabriel had already flitted off to places unknown to pick up Boss' dry cleaning before some charity gala he had to attend tonight. After Dean dropped Castiel off at work he drove around for a while, he had six hours to kill before he had to go get Cas again at four and take him out. He preferred Cas’ new hours, the afternoon shift was awkward and difficult to plan around but him working ten until four meant that they had more time to spend together in the evenings.

He drove his Baby a few miles out of town and pulled her into an abandoned dirt road that came to an end overlooking a cliff, wanting to enjoy his day now that he was free and had nothing to do. It was unseasonably warm for mid-November, so he blared some ACDC from the stereo and sat on the hood of the car with a can of beer he'd sneaked into the trunk a while back. It was warm and probably stale but he didn't care. He got a few texts from Meg while he was there, but he ignored them all. Just because he was free again and had his phone back didn’t mean he needed to use it, and he didn't have enough energy to listen to Meg's ramblings.

He lay back against the window and let his eyes flicker shut, tapping his foot to the beat of the music. He must have drifted off at some point, because the next time he opened his eyes the tape had finished, the air was distinctly quieter and he was met with the unsettling feeling that he wasn't alone. He glanced around, groggy from his nap, and tried to locate the source of his discomfort. He clambered off the hood of the car and pulled out his phone - it was three o'clock, and the air was beginning to chill, so he ignored the looming of the ominous presence and climbed back into the Impala and drove back to Lawrence, returning just in time to pick Cas up from the coffee shop. 

“Ready?” Dean asked when Castiel climbed into the passenger seat, he was starting to feel anxious. He had no idea how Castiel would react to this, hopefully not too badly. Maybe he’d even appreciate the gesture but the closer they got to the Lawrence Cemetery the worse the idea seemed to sound. They pulled up outside the iron gates and Dean shut off the engine. Castiel got out first, and stared over at the entrance as if it personally offended him. “You okay?” Dean checked. Castiel nodded curtly and walked round the back of the car to take Dean’s hand in his. Castiel seemed to understand Dean’s plan and led him through the graveyard. It was huge and hilly with evergreen trees, colourful flowers and memorial benches at every turn.

Castiel came to a stop a while later on the gravelly path beside all the larger, fancier looking gravestones on the shallow hill. He stared with sad eyes at a particular stone with a weeping angel bent over a marble podium surrounded by little carved bell shaped petals. Dean inspected it closer:

_Isabella Evangeline Novak née Milton_

_The angel who walked the earth_

_Loving mother, wife and daughter_

_14th October 1959 – 6th July 1996_

“Usually they wouldn’t let you bury someone like me in such a good spot,” Castiel remarked. This was a good spot, it was situated on the top of a little hill along with several other swanky looking graves and there was very little tree cover meaning the sun would shine on these lots almost every day of the year. “Dad paid them a lot of money.”

“I can tell,” Dean said in awe as he stepped off the path to kneel down in front of the gravestone. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, like he was being protected and watched over by some ethereal force. He extended a hand to trace it over the collection of stone flowers around the base of the podium. 

“Brugmansia was her favourite flower,” Castiel said. “They call it angel’s trumpet.” Dean smiled for a moment, but it faded pretty quickly. He didn’t miss the tremble in Castiel’s voice, he sounded lost and broken. He was standing on the path staring at the gravel with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at Dean with cold, lifeless eyes - almost as if he wasn't really seeing anything at all. He'd closed himself off. Dean understood, he'd lost count of the amount of times he'd done the same thing - much to the frustration of his father.

“Cas,” Dean said. The boy blinked twice, coaxing himself back into awareness, as Dean outstretched his hand in a gesture of comfort. Castiel took it and knelt by Dean’s side. He bit down on his lip in an attempt to control its quivering. “How did she die?” Dean asked, pulling Castiel into his side. He knew from his own experiences that although it seemed daunting, talking about it helped. Castiel had obviously been denied the opportunity. 

“Haemorrhage,” Castiel whispered, he hoped his voice wouldn’t betray him but no such luck, he sounded utterly pitiful. “It was a uterine rupture from the caesarean scar from when she had Rachel and Inias. With Anna it was fine but…I don’t know, I guess I’m bad luck.” Dean kissed Castiel’s temple in a show of support, he dreaded to think how long it had been since Cas had come here – far too long, and he needed Dean’s support. Dean hardly ever got to visit his mother's grave, it was in Illinois where his grandparents lived but there wasn't even so much as a body left behind after the fire. “D-Dad said that, erm, we both could have died. But th-the doctors…they s-saved me inst-stead.” A heartbroken sob escaped his throat and he turned to bury his head in Dean’s shoulder blade. “Why…why me? They sh-should’ve saved her.” Dean felt his own tears burning behind his eyes and rapidly tried to blink them away while Castiel bawled into his shirt, soaking it with moisture. He couldn’t believe that after all this time Castiel blamed himself for his mother’s death, and hated himself for it. Dean knew all too well how easy it was to believe it when people said that, but blame didn’t fall on Castiel. If anyone, it fell on his father for making him feel this way. If he was honest, Dean thought that Jacob Novak sounded like a massive dick.

“Cas, shh, it wasn’t your fault,” Dean soothed, but Castiel just cried harder. At a loss regarding what to do, Dean just stroked Cas’ hair and murmured pacifying words until his cries began to subside into quiet sniffles and hiccups which was close to a good fifteen minutes later. Dean suspected it had been a while since Cas had let himself think this hard about his mother. He knew from experience that disallowing himself that opportunity made it far more difficult to come to terms with it.

“Sorry,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s shirt.

“S’okay,” he said. He knew all too well that crippling feeling of guilt, he’d felt it for a long time concerning his own mother’s death but by the time he’d reached thirteen he’d accepted that he couldn’t have stopped it. It had been an electrical shortage, and his four year old self couldn’t have done anything to prevent the fire if he’d tried. He just had to be grateful that he'd managed to get Sammy out. “Don’t apologise.”

He cleared his throat and ran his tongue across the back of his teeth. He felt like he should say something, but he had no idea what. In hindsight he should have recognised that coming here would greatly upset Cas, but the kid obviously had a lot of unspoken thoughts about his mother and the circumstances of her death. Dean wasn't a therapist, but he thought maybe if Cas dealt with those feelings he’d be able to cope better in general. It was ironic considering that Dean was the poster child for emotional constipation.

“Hey, uh, Isabella,” Dean said awkwardly. He had no idea what he was doing, but people did this in movies and it was always therapeutic as well as cute and romantic, right? He had an inkling that it was probably much less than that in real life and this would probably end up going very badly. Castiel glanced up with a look of confusion on his face. “I’m Dean Winchester and…I just wanted to let you know that your son...he's grown into the most beautiful person in the world.” He cringed at how cheesy that sounded, but continued. He couldn’t stop now or he’d sound even more ridiculous. “He’s my best friend…and more than that, too. But he thinks it’s his fault that you di—passed away. I know how that feels. It’s a shame you never got to meet him, he looks just like you. You’d have loved him so much, been so proud of him. He’s the bravest person I know,” Dean said proudly. He still felt slightly uncomfortable talking to a stone – he’d never been very good with words – but by the look on Cas’ face he could tell he must have been doing something right. “Make sure you watch over him, okay?” Dean said, ending with a kiss to Castiel’s matted hair. He looked up when he heard a rustling in the bushes a little lower down the hill, he glanced down there but he couldn’t see anything. It was probably just a fox, so he turned back to Cas and breathed in the smell of his hair.

“Mom?” Cas whispered, as if he was half expecting a response. His eyes dropped in disappointment when none came. “I miss you, Momma,” he said, leaning closer into Dean’s side. He felt completely safe here, like nothing and nobody could harm him. Even if his father came back now and started shouting insults, he knew he wouldn’t feel them; Dean was protecting him. And so was his mother. It was almost as if he could feel her presence leaning over him and kissing his cheek. “M’sorry,” said Castiel in a weak murmur. Dean cuddled him closer to his chest and whispered soft words of comfort. He smiled slightly when he heard Castiel began to sing his lullaby.

_”Spread your wings, don’t cry. Fly high, little bird, fly high.”_


	13. Chapter 13

A thick layer of dark clouds fell over Lawrence as the sun began to set, it was then that Dean and Castiel chose to leave and head home. Castiel was quiet and reserved on the journey back, which left Dean wondering if he’d done the right thing. Maybe taking him to visit his mother's grave had been a bad idea, after all Cas had never really had the chance to grieve her properly despite never knowing her. However, his mind was put to rest when he saw the refreshed glint in Cas’ eyes – it couldn’t have been too bad, then. Dean felt on edge, but he couldn’t identify why. At the cemetery he’d felt something more than the watchful presence of restful spirits (or rather the wind as skeptics would call it), and it had felt like eyes on him. Scornful eyes. He put it out of his mind, it was a ridiculous notion. Who would want to watch two teenagers at a graveyard?

The house was brimming with tension when they got back. In fact, they walked straight into the middle of a vicious argument between Gabriel and Ellen. That alone was shocking as Gabriel wasn’t really the argumentative type. Sure he could be obstreperous and act like a stroppy three year old sometimes, but he’d never openly disrespect someone like Ellen – aka, someone who could easily take him in a fight. Neither Dean nor Castiel knew what to say or do, so they just stood there in the hallway completely dumbstruck. It’d been years since Castiel had seen his brother act this way, and then it had been towards his father right before he’d walked out the door and nobody could exactly blame him for that.

“I get you're pissed, okay? But that gives you no right to talk to me like a piece of shit,” Ellen lectured. She wasn’t yelling, or even raising her voice. Her tone was completely steady and she was surrounded by a sort of eerie calm. Gabriel on the other hand was a mess of disdainful energy. He turned away from Ellen, and she expected him to bolt past Dean and Cas and sulk in his room like a child for the rest of the night, but instead he pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes and tried to suppress a scream, which came out as a whimper through gritted teeth while his wings vibrated with anger.

Gabe took a moment to collect himself then shook out his hands and wings. He knew he was in the wrong, but he was frustrated. Little tiny things that had irked him about living here – occurances that didn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things – seemed like mountains he couldn’t climb over. Sometimes he liked the relinquished responsibility that came with living with Ellen, she naturally mothered him in a firm but caring way, but other times he wanted his own little freedoms that came with being the head of the household. In retrospect, it was ludicrous to throw a fit because she was controlling the amount of sugar he could put in his food (lest his teeth begin to rot), especially when he’d recently discovered that some meals tasted far better without it.

What made him seem the most pathetic was that it didn’t even bother him. Ellen had absolutely nothing to do with why he was so furious. He was furious at himself. He’d messed up, he’d been doing that all of his life, but this time he’d had someone relying on him and in a totally different way than Castiel had done (he missed that too, he liked having his little brother looking up to him). The charity gala had been a bust, and the worst part that it was entirely his fault. He’d brought the wrong notes for Boss' speech, dry cleaned the wrong suit and given a salmon sushi roll to Mr Satou, the Japense business partner who just so happened to be vegan. Everyone had given Gabriel horrified stares when the aging man began to throw up all over the carpet.

Work was stressful, and it was hard on him. He knew Boss was pushing him, but he also knew he should have been able to rise up to the task like he’d promised he would. He needed to, he’d let his brother down before and he couldn’t do it again. He’d ruined seven years of his brother’s life, and now he finally had the chance to make up for it. The only problem was that he was failing miserably. He’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t lose this job, for Castiel. His little brother was all he had left. He had no parents, very little money, slowly improving relationships with his other siblings and was living in his younger brother’s boyfriend’s adopted parents' house. Things weren't exactly peachy. He had to be there for Castiel, he had to stick out this job for as long as he could manage so they could buy an apartment and Cas could go to university. He'd been saving up for that for a long time, putting money aside and refusing to spend it on their piling bills, just like he had done with Anna. Unfortunately, it was still measly in comparison to tuition fees and it was likely that, just like with Anna, he'd have to beg Michael to put Cas through college. Gabriel tried not to think about that, he had absolutely no idea what he would do after Castiel left. He was already a ghost of his teenage self, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d pulled one of those ill thought out pranks he used to love so much. 

He turned back to Ellen. “Sorry,” he mumbled, hating how insincere and bitter it sounded. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ellen kicked him out for acting like such a brat. Maybe he could buy a crappy half-repaired car from Bobby and live in that on the side of the road and beg for change - like anyone would donate quarters to a _lousy hegodun_ like himself. But at least then he’d have transport. That seemed like the best he could hope for. Boss wanted to see him first thing Monday morning in his main office in the centre of town where all the big business buildings were. He knew that's where Boss kept all his papers for every single one of his employees - more evidence that he was going to get sacked.

Dean and Castiel felt horribly intrusive, and a stern look from Ellen was all it took to get them scampering off to their room as quickly as possible. Dean plugged in his television and flicked it on, turning up the volume in case anybody started yelling - he didn't want Cas to have to hear that. It may have only been a few days due to his grounding, but the familiar buzz of white noise before he switched the channel to some crappy sitcom was comforting. Castiel didn’t move. Despite his lack of people skills he knew Gabriel better than his older brother thought. When Gabriel was upset he often reacted with anger because it was the only way he knew how - the only way that had ever been acceptable to him, simply because it meant not showing weakness. He hadn’t done that when they’d lost the house, but it’d been a good few hours before he’d had to face Castiel following that incident and he'd probably already gotten it out of his system. The thought of Gabe all alone on the front lawn screaming and throwing things sent a pang of guilt and sadness straight to Castiel's gut. Gabriel had had to grow up too quickly, that was his problem. He’d been eighteen when things turned sour. He should have been partying and screwing up his life like every high school senior did, but instead he became the parent to two preteens and two fifteen year olds - he'd barely managed to graduate. He’d always been immature for his age, but that was part of his nature. He was playful and jocular, even though it meant he could be a dick sometimes it didn't make him any less of a good person. He hadn’t been given the opportunity to finish growing up normally, and this was the result. 

Dean grabbed Cas by the hand and led him further into the room. Castiel took a few steps forward, but remained otherwise unresponsive. Dean didn’t say anything, what could he say? Castiel was still recovering from earlier at the cemetery, and now he’d had to witness his brother’s almost-breakdown (they heard Gabriel sprint up the stairs a few moments later). He had to hand it to Gabriel; he was pretty damn good at keeping it together, he wasn't sure he'd be able to do that if it were him and Sammy in the same situation. He carefully removed Castiel’s layers and unbound his wings and pulled a larger shirt over the boy’s head. He liked taking care of Cas, it was better than facing his own problems, and didn't make him feel nearly as despondent.

Dinner was an awkward affair. Gabriel didn’t say much and kept his watery eyes downcast in shame, avoiding any eye contact and forcing food into his mouth despite him not being hungry at all. Not only had he almost definitely lost his job, but he’d also had the audacity to insult the people who’d been so nice as to give him and Cas a home. He hoped that they’d let Castiel carry on living here, after all he’d done nothing wrong. The blame was entirely on Gabriel. He wanted to apologise some more, but he had no clue where to start. 

“Christmas is soon!” Sam said, pretending to sound more excited than he actually was just so that someone would say something. Christmas had never been a particularly extraordinary affair for the Winchesters, with John being a mechanic he didn’t earn a great deal of money so most of it went towards paying bills and buying food, there had never been much left over for a great deal of birthday or Christmas presents. And then there was the fact that John loathed the holidays. Last year their tree had consisted of a potted plant Dean had found on the side of the road and some silly string that Sam had borrowed from a friend to decorate it. 

“We’ll make it a good’n,” Bobby promised, feigning a bright smile. “Your fam’ly comin’ down, Gabe?” he asked. Normally he might have aimed that question at Castiel, but Gabriel looked forlorn and Castiel was in the middle of a not very well hidden game of footsie with Dean beneath the table - an obvious attempt on Dean's part to cheer Cas up. It seemed to be working going by the faint smile on the boy's face.

“Um, I don’t know,” Gabriel said in a low voice, only glancing up briefly between his words out of politeness. “Usually they do but we don’t have the house so we’ll— _I’ll_ have to figure out something else.”

“We’d love to meet them, hon,” Ellen said, trying to catch his eye to no avail. “Why don’t you invite them down?”

Gabriel was about to politely explain how impractical that would be when Bobby finished her sentence. “We don’t have enough space ‘ere, but m’sure we could come up with something.”

“We could stay in a hotel,” Sam suggested, brightening up for real this time. There was no possible way to be bored in a hotel, they were just naturally exciting places to be in. “Make an occasion of it,” he added when he got a few weird looks, mainly from Jo (Dean was too busy making bedroom eyes at Cas to come up with a sarcastic response as he normally would).

“That’s not a bad idea, kid,” Jo decided, nodding her approval.

“Give ‘em a call, why dontcha?” Bobby said with a smile, nudging Gabe in a show of affection. Gabriel’s brows furrowed together, his lack of understanding blatant on his features. Gabriel had grown up being taught to expect the worst, especially following his mother's death and his father's withdrawal that had followed, and not be shocked when it came. It had never really occurred to him that his father had always been a pessimist - and that had only been amplified after Castiel's birth - but the Harvelles were treating him as if everything was suddenly okay and he hadn't been unfairly slandering them just over an hour before. He didn't deserve these people's kindness and all of a sudden they were acting as if he was forgiven. 

Not unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, he called each of his siblings later that evening, to distract himself from thinking about what was coming on Monday more than anything, and each of them agreed (although Michael did so reluctantly, the same as every year, after trying to think of excuses as to why on earth he would be working on Christmas day when he didn't have a boss to blame such decisions on) to come for Christmas. Luci made a point that if she and Nick were coming then so was Satan, the little demon dog. Gabriel tried not to let his revulsion at that show in his voice. 

He had nothing to do for the rest of the evening, didn't even have anything he wanted to do, so he threw himself down on his bed and let himself drift off to sleep. He awoke several times during the night in a cold sweat due to nightmares - horrible visions of Cas estranging him, or his mother's spirit viciously taunting him about not looking after her youngest properly - and by the time the sun had risen he was about as rested as he had been when he'd shut the curtains eight hours ago. He didn’t want to move, his muscles felt like they were made of iron, so instead he just laid face down with his head buried underneath the pillow and hoped today would disappear so it could just be Monday already and he could face what was coming to him.

“Gabe?” a timid voice asked, slowly pushing the door open. Gabriel lifted the pillow just enough to see who it was. It was Sam. Dammit, that kid just didn’t know when to stop sometimes. He reminded himself it wouldn’t be in his favour to snap at the boy, after all his intentions were good and pissing off the family more than necessary wouldn't be in his best interests. “Do you want any lunch?”

Gabriel groaned, trying to ignore the horrible clenching of his empty stomach. It was much easier to communicate in groans than with speech, and far less effort. He heard the door click shut and assumed Sam had left, but the dip in the bed just moments later told him that he was wrong. Gabriel suppressed the urge to groan again.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, tentatively extending a hand to rest on Gabriel’s exposed wings (he never let the blanket cover them because they always somehow got tangled, and they provided plenty of warmth themselves). Sam liked to think he'd formed quite the friendship with the older man since they'd both been living here. He liked Gabriel, but even Sam could see that he had a massive weight on his shoulders that was threatening to crush him. People always thought that because he, Sam, was twelve that he didn’t understand grown up things. He was a preteen not an imbecile, and he considered Gabriel to be a good friend of his. Gabe always talked to him like a person, not a child. Never had he once patronised him, he’d even let Sam borrow one of his magazines to sate his curiosity. Dean hadn’t been too happy with that one when he’d found out and argued that he should at least wait until his next birthday.

Gabriel sighed and threw the pillow off his head and rolled over into a sitting position. He didn’t know what to tell Sam, the kid could spot a lie a mile away but he didn’t want to burden a twelve year old with his pathetic issues. He was a grown man, he could deal with this by himself. 

“Wanna do something fun?” Sam asked. Gabriel smiled weakly but decided to humour him, what harm could it do?

“Like what?”

“I dunno,” Sam said, suddenly feeling a little insecure. He didn’t know a lot about what Gabriel liked, everything he did was completely selfless. He hardly ever did anything just for the fun of it. “There was this…thing about Norse mythology I wanted to watch but…”

“Sounds great,” Gabe said, forcing a smile. It sounded dull as hell, but he thought he should let Sam think he was helping, because he knew that otherwise the boy would feel guilty. He was instantly pleased with his decision and knew he’d said the right thing, because Sam’s face lit up with happiness.

* * *

“Wait, so Loki had sex with a horse?” Gabriel asked, staring intently at the television. He’d come to the definite conclusion that the Norse Gods were maniacs. He thought he and Loki would get along though, if he weren’t so tied up with trying to be responsible and Loki wasn't, you know, more than a little bit homicidal. Perhaps one weekend he could go and do something fun and Loki-esque, though maybe without the bestiality and mass murder.

“Yeah,” Sam said. He had noticed when they started watching this documentary Gabriel had looked less than thrilled - he wasn't an idiot and knew when he was being lied to - but now he was enthralled by the tales of what the Norse gods had gotten up to. He felt a sense of pride at his success, he’d done it again! Last week he’d gotten Jess and Morgan to watch a documentary on the criminal justice system with him, and they’d liked it too. He was on a roll!

“That sly dog,” Gabriel said under his breath.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Dean said upon entering the living room with Cas on his tail. It must have been quite a sight – somewhere about halfway through the documentary Sam had ended up practically on Gabriel’s lap, encircled in his wings. They were soft and the feathers felt like kitten fur, and likewise Gabriel had been almost purring when Sam started to absentmindedly stroke them.

“What?” Sam said innocently. “I was cold.” 

Dean gave him a funny look. Sam stuck his tongue out.

“Wings dispel body heat,” Castiel explained in an uninterested voice. “They are usually very warm, you should know that, Dean.”

Dean ground his teeth together, he did know that but it didn't mean he had to be happy about his baby brother sitting in some twenty five year old's lap. Of course it was entirely platonic, and he knew that since he'd been spending a lot of time with Cas lately, Sam had taken to Gabriel as a second big brother, but that didn't mean it didn't still irritate him. “Alright, but if this gets any weirder I’m having words.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. Dean left the room in a slight huff and Cas followed him. Castiel thought hard for a second and narrowed his eyes intently. Body language was hard, and he wasn’t great at reading people's feelings but he was pretty sure he recognised this one, so he asked Dean for confirmation. It'd been Sam, after reading a fat text book on Autism Spectrum Disorders and spending several hours on Wikipedia last week, who had suggested he start asking questions about emotions when he couldn't quite make sense of what someone was feeling.

“Are you jealous?” he asked innocuously. 

“What? No,” Dean retorted harshly. “I’m just…argh.”

“Okay,” Castiel said. The truth was that Dean was jealous. But Cas didn’t need to know that. As much as he appreciated Gabriel keeping an eye on Sammy, he couldn't help but envy him a little bit. When Sam's attention wasn't focussed on Jess, more often than not it was on Gabriel, and he was slowly getting used to the fact that he wasn't the only person for his brother to look up to any more. 

He knew he was being ludicrous – Sammy would always be his brother, and nobody could take that away, but that didn’t mean he hated it any less. Gabriel was more than a good person, he’d raised Cas the same way Dean had raised Sam so he knew he could be trusted. But Dean was protective, and naturally he spent the rest of the evening sulking, especially when he heard the two of them across the hall playing video games in Sam’s room. _His_ video games, mind you.

“Why are you frustrated?” Castiel asked, he’d been examining Dean attentively and trying to put the pieces together but he found it difficult. Every fibre of Dean’s being seeped irritation, but Castiel couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. If it wasn’t anything to do with his protectiveness over Sam, then what could it be? Could it be…him? Had he done something that annoyed Dean? He scanned over the past few hours in his mind and couldn’t think of anything he’d done. He understood how hard it was for Dean to have Cas constantly around him, they hadn't been dating for long and they'd been forced to take a big step because of Castiel's predicament. “Is it me?” he asked fearfully. 

Dean ran his hands through his hair. “No, Cas. I’m just being childish,” he spat, sounding furious at himself. 

“You shouldn’t insult yourself, Dean,” said Castiel feeling slightly more relaxed now, but hating the way Dean spoke about himself. Dean shook his head and kept glaring angrily at the floor. “What’s wrong, then?”

He flexed his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “It’s Sam.” He hung his head, averting his eyes from Castiel’s penetrating gaze that he was certain would be judging him.

“I thought you said you weren’t jealous.”

“I lied,” Dean said shamefully. Castiel blinked a few times rapidly, that thought had never entered his head. Why would Dean lie about that? He shook it off, he knew that people lied sometimes and although he didn’t really understand why it was necessary in this situation, he thought it would be best to leave it alone. There would be some things that he would never understand.

“What are you jealous of?” Castiel asked, deciding that simple questions were the best. They offered the answers which were easiest for him to understand and for Dean to explain, especially when it came to emotions.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Dean, “It’s stupid.” Castiel wasn’t sure how to respond, he was sure what Dean was referring to was nothing short of rational but he decided to let it drop. He was hardly the best person for Dean to talk about this stuff with, all he could do was listen - he had absolutely no hope of offering any sort of advice. Lost for what else to do Castiel lay down on the bed and invited Dean to join him. He rested his head against Dean's heart, focussing all his attention on it's steady beating, while Dean watched the old Star Trek reruns on the television.

* * *

When Dean woke up the first thing he noticed, besides the high pitched white noise from the TV that had been left on all night - no longer oddly comforting and, instead, mildly irritating - was the bright white of the clouds outside the window; it had snowed overnight. A good few years ago that would have thrilled him but now he just felt a slight sense of irritation. His father had hated the snow, it made travelling anywhere difficult, and it always put him in a bad mood. And John Winchester in a bad mood wasn’t good for Dean, so he couldn’t help but associate the snow with the fear of doing something wrong and earning himself a beating. In the winter he always had to tiptoe around everywhere as to not upset his father. But his father wasn’t here, and snow didn’t have to be bad. He made a mental note to himself to take Cas and Sam out for a snowball fight at some point. Maybe Gabriel could come too, he could use some cheering up, and maybe the four of them hanging out together would cause his ridiculous jealousy to dissipate.

The next thing he noticed was that Castiel wasn’t in bed with him. He checked the alarm clock – it was quarter past seven. Cas had probably already left for his paper round, they lived further away from the shop now so he had to get up and leave much earlier. Dean forced himself out of bed got dressed. He couldn’t be bothered to have a shower - he’d just have to wear lots of deodorant and he could wash later this evening.

In the kitchen Bobby was leaning against the counter reading yesterday’s newspaper and Gabriel was sat at the breakfast bar fiddling with his toast crumbs with a sad expression on his face. Sam was sat next to him and trying to cheer him up but failing miserably. Dean didn’t even know what the guy had done that he thought could have lost him his job; it couldn’t have been that bad. After asking some questions on Saturday evening Dean found out that Cas didn’t know either, only that it was something to do with the gala, Gabriel was a closed book, but Cas had said that Boss probably wouldn’t fire him and would just lecture him and make him promise to try harder, he would never fire someone without a warning first. He’d tried explaining that to Gabe to little avail - though maybe that had been something to do with the fact that Gabriel had been sulking himself into a deep sleep at the time.

“Is Cas here?” he asked, noticing the keys on the counter. They were Cas’ keys to the shops back entrance – Cas would need them in order to collect the papers before delivering them.

“No, he left about a minute ago,” Sam said inattentively, his main focus on Gabriel. Dean tried not to let that irritate him and grabbed the keys, Cas couldn’t have gotten far in the space of a minute. He slipped his shoes on and pulled on a jacket before heading out of the door with a quick, “be right back!” 

Damn, it was freezing. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and began walking quickly; he’d catch up with Cas before long, he knew the boy would do his best to avoid slipping on the icy sidewalk and would be slowed down as a result. A dark figure in the corner of his eye made him grind to a halt. The figure was walking the same direction as him, but on the other side of the road and just as quickly. He squinted against the bright light, the reflection of the sun’s rays on the snow made it difficult to see but he was pretty sure he could see Castiel at the end of the street in the distance.

He turned his attention back to the figure and paled – he’d recognise the dark hair and leather jacket anywhere. It was too early for many people to be out so the streets were relatively clear. There were no witnesses in sight, and his father was following Cas. He stood, rooted to the spot without a clue what to do. If he ran up to Cas maybe John would back off, though that seemed unlikely. Why would he be scared off by his teenage son, whom he'd always subdued without difficulty? He could try to distract him so Cas could get away, screw any injuries he might get. That’s what he wanted to do, what he thought he should do in order to protect Castiel, but he was afraid. He cursed himself for that, he wasn’t supposed to be scared. Hating himself, he turned on his heel and ran back towards the house.

* * *

“Hey, kid!” a rough voice called. Castiel turned to face the man – there was nobody else around he could be talking to so he might as well be polite and kindly tell him to leave him alone, that he had places he needed to be – and was met with a sharp pain in his cheekbone that seemed to come from nowhere. He fell backwards and hit the floor rather ungracefully sending a shooting pain up his spine, it didn’t fully dawn on him that he’d been punched until the man had him by his collar and was hauling him up. When the man hit him again he was slightly more prepared this time and managed to stay on his feet, despite stumbling backwards again. He tried to run but he found his legs were unsteady and unable to find purchase on the snow and ice, and within half a second he was being dragged down a sleazy alleyway - the one he'd taken to avoiding after seeing a manner of ungodly things taking place in there - and slammed up against the wall, crushing his wings against the solid surface. 

The next blow was a knee to his stomach that sent him into a choking fit, not at all helped by the grip the man had on his throat, keeping him pinned against the wall. He tried to fight back, to pull the man's rough hands away from his neck - the touch alone made his entire body itch and tremble. The punches fell relentlessly, he felt like he was going to vomit when a particularly hard one fell against his chest and burning pain caused bile to rise in his throat and tears spill from his eyes. He hadn’t even had a chance to get a good look at this man’s face, and now he could hardly see at all because of the swelling that was slowly causing his left eye to be forcibly squeezed shut from the first two punches he'd received. Moments later he was on the ground again with strike after strike falling against various places on his body. He screamed in agony when he was flipped over and the painful blows began to land on his bound wings, the layers did nothing to protect them. He bit his lip to keep from crying out again - until he could taste nothing but blood and the salt of his tears. He was close to losing his resolve and begging when the man began to speak.

“My son is not a fag!” he yelled, and Castiel flinched at the vicious rage he heard in the voice. He'd never been called that word before, in fact he'd never even associated it with himself until it was being spat at him - now, the slur made him cringe. He was flipped over again and forced to put his weight against his throbbing wings on the cold, hard ground. A punch connected with his nose and a searing pain caused him to cry out and the tears he’d tried to stop continued to flow in earnest. Next thing he knew, he was screaming and thrashing, the same way he'd done in supermarkets when the lights were too bright or the chattering was too loud back when he was little but a motherless child. He hadn't done that in a long time, his father had despaired for it and always sent him to his room without dinner when they got home, refusing to let any of his siblings lay eyes on him until he _learnt his lesson._ But this was worse, far worse than bright white lights and the sounds of bustling people - worse, even, than what he'd felt when news of his wings had gotten out. It was nothing compared to this. He felt the tension begin to knot in the pit of his stomach and his throat begin to close up as more tears collected behind his eyelids. He squeezed them shut, not wanting to see the man's, Dean's father he assumed from the vile slurs, face or the cloaked figure he was sure was standing behind him, pleased to be back inside Castiel's thoughts like he hadn't been since everybody had found out about his wings, mocking his anxiety and tapping the watch on his wrist.

_Your time is up, Castiel. Time to come with me._

“And he does not mix with filth like you!” Another punch, this time to his jaw.

_I will drag you out if I have to, Castiel._

“Disgusting vasen.” But no blow followed. Instead the man, he refused to call him by any name, grabbed his face with a sweaty hand and leaned in close, his hot, foul breath - cigars and whiskey - attacking Castiel’s nostrils.

_Tick, tock, tick tock._

“I’m gonna kill you, vasen, nice and slow.” Castiel pressed his eyes shut and held a threatening sob low in his throat. He could at least attempt to die with some vague mask of dignity. He waited for the man to crush his skull with his own bare hands or tear his limbs off one. An ear-splitting bang tore through the air, and Cas whimpered, waiting for the delayed reaction of the pain. Nothing came, just the lick of the wind across his bruised skin.

A moment later the air was clear and there was no hostile presence leaning over him and the large, greasy hands were replaced with soft but calloused ones that guided him gently into a sitting position. He leaned against the newcomer’s side, instantly recognising by the familiar smell that it was Dean and let himself be half-dragged half-carried out of the alleyway and underneath a nearby bus shelter. With Dean's arms around him, he finally allowed his eyes to open. It was bright, not glaring like the supermarket, but gentle and peaceful. He glanced around nervously, waiting for the final blow that would end him, looking for the elusive hooded figure he'd never seen but whose presence he'd felt. Just like the last time, his anxiety - the spectre with it - began to slowly ebbed away with the quite lullaby of Dean's voice in his ears. Dean's touch didn't bring pain or the tickle of bugs beneath his skin, instead it sent them scurrying away. He was safe, Dean was here, he was safe. 

“God, Cas,” Dean said, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. The fear he’d felt when he’d first seen his father was nothing compared to the dread when he saw Cas on the grim, snow-covered ground in the alleyway, his father stood over him. He’d had a horrible feeling that they were too late, but Cas was safe. Thank God, Cas was safe! “Say something,” he begged. Castiel was just making tiny noises like painful little sobs in the back of his throat, and he was shaking uncontrollably.

“Dean,” Cas whispered brokenly. His lip was gushing blood and swollen as were several other parts of his face, his head lolled into Dean’s comforting shoulder. Dean shrugged out of his jacket – a big leather one just like his father’s, he made a mental note to burn it when he got the chance – and placed it around the injured boy like a blanket, he was aware Cas wasn't shivering due to the cold, but it seemed to help as he pulled it tighter around himself and buried his head in Dean's neck. Dean took the moment to dig through his pocket until he found his phone and called for the police and an ambulance. 

He tried to keep his eyes away from the alleyway, it was still clearly in sight though they were a safe enough distance away and he doubted John would try anything else now if he was smart – he’d probably already figured that the police were on their way, and he was mainly trying to get away rather than over power Bobby. For an old guy, Bobby was still a pretty decent fighter and he’d managed to get the upper hand on John more than a few times in their sparring matches. But this wasn't a playful game, this was a battle. Dean averted his eyes in favour of kissing Cas' hair. He finally glanced over to see Bobby smash the hilt of empty gun (he’d already used the single bullet on shooting John in the shoulder to hinder his attack) between John’s eyebrows, knocking him out cold. Dean flinched, Cas whimpered. It was silent for less than a second, then three police cars appeared on the scene quickly followed by an ambulance, sirens blaring.

They advanced on him with urgency, and Cas was immediately scooped up by two paramedics and strapped to a stretcher, he twitched uncomfortably at the position, trying to fight against the restraints as much as he could given his current weakness.

“Watch his wings!” Dean snapped. They were handling him less than gently and Dean almost started throwing punches at them when he noticed how one of the paramedics instantly recoiled at Dean’s revelation. Not even giving a second glance to Bobby whom he could see walking over, he hopped into the back of the ambulance and grabbed Cas’ hand. He was wincing in pain with every breath and tightly squeezing his eyes shut. Dean pressed the hand he held close to his lips and spent the journey murmuring words of comfort, more for his own benefit than Castiel's.

"It's okay, Cas. I promise you're gonna be okay."

* * *

Dean didn’t go to school that day, for obvious reasons. Cas had stayed by his bedside when he was in hospital and as much as the doctors and nurses tried to convince him otherwise, he refused to move an inch. It didn’t take long for them to stabilise him, Castiel’s wings had been the biggest issue though. They were fractured in a few places, as was his nose, but they taped it up pretty quickly and gave him some painkillers. Dean spent most of the day in a state of fury, the nurses avoided touching Castiel as much as possible and he was put in an empty ward right at the back of the hospital, and only moved him to a private room when Bobby had started yelling. They were treating him as if he had some sort of contagious disease they could somehow catch from simple being in the same room as him. Ironic, considering they were supposed to be professionals.

Gabriel hadn't gone to talk with Boss, and had phoned to sincerely (or as sincerely as he could muster) apologise for missing it. Boss had been kind and understood that Gabe needed to be with his little brother right now. He also promised that he'd expect him back in work by his side on Friday - he had big things planned that he needed Gabriel's assistance with. It seemed bittersweet now to know that he wasn't going to lose his job while his baby brother lay in a hospital bed.

Castiel was vacant when the police came to talk to him in the ward, he stared straight through them and kept zoning out. Dean had to coax him back into awareness every so often in order for the police to gather a cohesive statement. They told him that they’d arrested John - he'd been in the cemetery watching them and had been stealthily stalking them both for quite a while now, the thought made Dean's spine tingle - and they were requesting a trial as soon as possible. Luckily, Cas only had to stay in hospital for a few days - it was obvious how much he hated it there - and the doctors recommended he stay at home and get some rest to focus on getting better, they even gave him some arnica cream that should assist his bruises to heal. The swelling had gone down pretty quickly, but he had two awful black eyes as a result of the broken nose and his wings hung awkwardly at his sides, twitching occasionally in obvious pain. He didn’t like to talk a lot, and when he did it was only to Dean or Gabriel, maybe the occasional word to Anna on the phone if he was feeling confident. He spent day after day hating himself and wanting to do nothing but cry and scream, but he knew he couldn’t. He felt completely alone and hopeless. Ellen had insisted that Dean go back to school, which he'd done begrudgingly, leaving Cas alone in the house with Gabriel while everyone else was at work and school. Gabe doted on him, only leaving once Dean had returned home to relive him from his brotherly duties. The company didn't help, all it did was serve to remind him of what had happened - the guilt in Dean's eyes never left him, and he saw those beautiful green orbs smiling apologetically at him even when they weren't there. The feeling slowly got easier to deal with as time passed, but he was still crippled with overwhelming emotions he couldn't make sense of. The doctor had assured the both of them that it was a normal response to trauma and it should go away by itself, and if it didn't there were treatments for post traumatic stress disorder he could get - but it wouldn't be cheap. He tried not to let his mind drift into payment territory; he knew what Ellen and Bobby would have to say in regard to that - they would assure him not to worry, that they had it under control. They probably wouldn't even tell him how much it had cost them.

Dean picked up on Castiel's edginess, and it unsettled him. Cas hardly talked, and Dean spent hours trying to comfort him, get him to respond in some way, but to little avail. The silence and vacancy from Castiel made him tense, and piled pressure onto him to try harder. During his follow up the doctor assured Dean that mental recovery is often more difficult than physical, and although Cas' physical wounds may be healing, the mental ones might take a little longer. Cas balked at most forms of physical contact aside from the occasional hand holding or peck on the cheek, but he slowly began to talk more and more as the days began to pass by, somewhat relieving Dean's tension. Cas spoke about seemingly random things, things he’d read or happier memories and he never once mentioned what happened and Dean always humoured him - it didn't matter how unimportant lipstick was to him, he would listen to Cas drone on about cosmetic testing on unwilling animals for hours on end if he had to. Castiel spoke about going to the park when he was seven and watching his father hold Anna in the sky and run around so she looked as if she were flying. Castiel had started to cry at the memory, so Dean just gingerly held him – what else could he do? Bobby suggested Dean try to get him to say something, it was obvious that the boy was hurting inside, but all attempts failed miserably. Castiel refused to talk about anything regarding what had happened, only repeating stories Dean had already heard more than enough times and crying at the end of each one. The doctor had promised that this heightened emotional state was also perfectly normal.

“How’s it goin’, kid?” Bobby asked on Saturday morning, nearly two weeks after the incident. Dean ran a hand across his face and sighed. He was angry at everything, and he didn’t have any way of expressing it. He wanted to believe his feelings were justified, but he knew he was being selfish. Castiel’s regression was infuriating him, and although he tried his best not to let it show he felt it seeping between the cracks every now and then, and Castiel wasn't so easily fooled regarding Dean's agitation. He knew Cas was able to sense it, and would no doubt come to his own conclusions and start blaming himself, as usual. The thought alone made Dean even angrier.

“I dunno,” Dean grumbled, sinking down into one of the breakfast bar stools and burying his head in his hands. He recognised that he was being completely unfair and pathetic. It wasn’t Cas’ fault, and he felt guilty as hell for that small part of him that was blaming Castiel for all this. He was trying to be loyal and supportive but he wanted to throw a tantrum like a child and force Cas to speak to him about it. He groaned. “I know it’s not his fault but… _argh!_ ” He hit the table with a curled fist.

“You just gotta give him time,” Bobby said.

“Poor kid’s been traumatised, he just needs a while to get back to himself,” Ellen interjected. Dean thought about it, he remembered the first time his father had taken a belt to him when he was seven, only about a year and a half after he’d first hit him with his fists or his palm. He remembered so clearly how terrified he’d been, and that had been nothing compared to what Cas had endured. Dean had always learnt to just deal with it because he had to watch out for Sammy and keep it a secret, but Cas was different to him. Castiel was…purer than he was, and although his own father hadn't exactly been perfect and Cas certainly wasn’t weak, he definitely wasn’t built to deal with something like this and immediately recover - he was different to Dean, more innocent, and his emotions ran closer to the surface than Dean's did.

“It’s like taking two steps back. He was just coming out of his shell. He was so…confident compared to when I first met him and now…”

“It might seem bleak now, but he could still bounce back faster than you think,” Ellen said. Bobby nodded in agreement. “And even if he doesn’t, you’re gonna be there every step of the way, aren’t ya?” 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I am. I’m gonna go check on him.” He pushed himself out of the chair, and began to head up to their room. Before he could start to climb the stairs, a low sound stopped him in his tracks, and he glanced up to see Castiel with his knees pulled him to his chin on the top step, leaning against the wall and shaking like a leaf with tears rolling down his cheeks and his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Dammit. Dean mentally kicked himself, he should’ve been more careful - he should've known that Cas would follow him - after all, he'd barely left his side since he'd gotten out of the hospital - and the boy didn't need to hear shit like that right now. He needed to be there for Cas, now more than ever, and Cas had probably mistook Dean's helplessness for him giving up.

Dean bounded up the stairs and grabbed Cas’ forearms, careful not to be too forceful, and gently guided him to his feet and onto the upstairs landing. Castiel instantly fell into Dean’s chest and wrapped his arms around his neck. Dean swept Cas up into his arms, careful not to jostle him too much, and carried him across the hall to their room (he was a little heavy and the wings got in the way a bit but he managed it) and placed him softly down at the bed on top of the sheets. He kneeled on the floor and placed a gentle hand on the curve of Cas’ jaw, his thumb stroking soothing circles on the light layer of stubble that had grown there above the yellowing bruise. Eventually, Castiel’s eyes flickered shut, but Dean knew he wasn’t sleeping – his breathing was still too ragged. 

“Y’know, erm,” Dean began, swallowing the lump in his throat and starting to trace the pattern on the bed sheets with his free hand. He didn't want to push Castiel into talking, but he knew it would help him. Taking a chance, Dean decided to reach out to Cas - maybe if he talked himself Castiel would soon follow in his footsteps. “I know how you feel. I used to be terrified of my dad…heck, I still am-” he laughed uncomfortably “-but, um, had to be strong.” He sighed and hung his head, this was a pathetic attempt. “I was never strong. It-It was all just this act. But, you…you are strong, way stronger than me. You’ve tackled your demons before, I know you can do it again and still kick their asses.”

Castiel’s eyes opened and stared at him with an emotion neither of them could identify no matter how hard they tried. Dean was glad, and slightly unnerved, when the eyes didn’t drop for a few seconds – he hoped it was a good sign that Cas could still look at him like this, with that intense stare that made him shiver to the bone.

“Tell me,” Castiel croaked, “about your father.” Dean swallowed again and ran his tongue over his lips, he knew exactly what Castiel meant by that. Where could he start? What could he even say? He wasn’t the best with words and he couldn’t begin to describe, even in his mind, how he’d felt for more than the last ten years of his life. “I can’t imagine…” Castiel said, but trailed off and narrowed his eyes at nothing in particular behind Dean's head. He almost wanted to turn and check if there was some giant creature looming over him, but he'd gotten used to Castiel's peculiar habits by now.

“It, um, it was hard…to, y’know, try to be normal. I knew that it wasn’t right but…I deserved it, it was my fault for pissing him off and being such a shit son.” Dean’s mouth twisted into a grimace and his voice reeked of self-loathing. “But you didn’t deserve it, and…it’s my fault you got hurt because…well, because of _me_. I’m poison, I’m disgusting but you’ve done nothing wrong! Should’ve been me. Y-You didn’t deserve that.” He stumbled haplessly over the words, and they came out completely different to how they'd sounded in his head, and they sounded ten times more pitiful.

“Neither did you,” Castiel said. He placed his hand on top of Dean’s and steered it off of his face so he could sit up and shuffle backwards so that he was leaning against the wall. He gave Dean what he hoped was an inviting smile and waved him over. The boy obliged and crawled across the bed into Castiel’s side so he was encased within his arms and wings. It struck him that he’d never been in this position, it’d always been him with his arms around Cas, protecting him, and never the other way around. The corner of his lip twitched up, he decided he quite liked it, being held and watched over by his angel. As much as he needed to be in control, he liked this too, more than he could have imagined, and hoped this wasn't going to be the last time he was here - it felt nice to relax into the arms of someone he trusted.

“I’d rather it’d been me,” Dean confessed in a soft whisper. Cas didn’t respond, but instead took to stroking Dean’s hair like he’d done to him so many times. Dean sighed sadly and buried his head closer to Castiel’s chest. “When I came here I promised myself I’d be better, like…I don’t know, a fresh start. But I still feel like I’m waiting for a bomb to go off. I know that one day I’ll fuck something up so badly Bobby or Ellen will just…crack a-and…”

“They won’t,” Castiel mumbled, much calmer now, placing a barely-there kiss to Dean’s temple. Listening to Dean had calmed him, it reminded him that he wasn’t alone in this, no matter what Dean had said earlier – if Dean could be strong for him he had to be strong in return. It was almost like therapy; knowing Dean had been through it all before him and was still, despite what he said about himself, a strong, beautiful and caring person. Sure, he had his problems with anger and wasn't the best at serious conversations but he was fiery and passionate with every fibre of his being. He was the complete opposite to Castiel, and somehow at the same time exactly the same.

Dean shifted slightly and sunk down so that his head was resting in Castiel’s lap. On his way down, Dean snatched one of Castiel’s hands into both of his and held it close to him while Cas’ other hand twined into his hair. He smiled a little bit. For once he felt like none of his bad memories, nor his constant fear of doing something that would earn him a beating, were being held completely at bay by Castiel’s presence.

“Sing to me, angel,” Dean requested. He loved it when Castiel sang, he had the most beautiful voice but he hardly ever showed it off, it was a shame really. He doubted that most people, especially his distant siblings, even knew about his talent.

“What do you want me to sing?” he asked, smiling slightly. The way Dean stared at him as if he were the most special person on the planet made his heart skip a few beats and then pick up at double speed, it was priceless.

“Your lullaby,” suggested Dean. He’d had the damn tune stuck in his head ever since the cemetery, it had become the default backing track to his life for the past few weeks since then. It was a beautiful song, and it somehow reminded Dean of good memories he hadn't even experienced yet. But even more beautiful than the song was Castiel's angelic voice, barely above a whisper, when he began to sing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be veeeeeery long so please bear with me and I'll try to get it up as soon as possible then it's just the epilogue to go! 
> 
> And yeah, I suck at writing violence. I'm sorry, I tried.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter before the epilogue, which will sum everything up a lot better than this one will. This is a very long chapter, so you have been warned. The amount of times I lay on the floor for hours at a time and screamed because of this chapter is unbelievable. The things I do for you people!
> 
> Also! This chapter will contain some smut, and it's the first smut I've ever written (which is probably why it's so awful, dear God please don't judge me) so please be nice. I'm very mindful of the fact that people I know in real life have been reading this story despite my many attempts at trying to get them away, which is why I tried to keep it a little bit more PG but I'm not sure how well that worked. So if you know me in real life please either leave now or never speak of this to me again.
> 
> Shout out to my co-author Megan who's been helping me write this, she was especially helpful during the drinking scene - it may have been her who suggested the, uh, catfish thing. It may also have been two in the morning when she put forward that idea.

Castiel didn’t go back to school again, it was nearing the Christmas holidays and he couldn’t bear to be the brunt of all the gossip and curious stares. Hopefully by the time the New Year came round everything would have relaxed a little bit and everybody would have forgotten that he’d been mercilessly beaten by his boyfriend’s father. Somehow he doubted it. He didn’t allow himself to get behind on his studies, though. Dean brought him all of his work, and he did all of it during the lonely days he spent at home by himself while everyone else was at school or work. He occasionally did some shifts at the coffee shop, but only a couple of hours every week since Boss demanded he stay at home and get some rest, and he didn’t particularly want to be seen in public anyway. Besides, binding his wings for more than a few hours made them horribly sore since they weren’t fully healed yet.

He got the cast off his nose the day before the trial, which was on a cold midmorning a week before Christmas. His black eyes had yet to fade completely but the rest of his wounds were almost healed, except for his broken wing which would still be very sore for a few more days. The trial was awful, but Michael had sent them his personal attorney, Mr Montague, to assure their success at a discount price – which was still expensive as hell, but none of them were prepared to risk John walking free. Sadly, if they’d invested in a less prestigious lawyer there was a chance that John’s sentence might not be as harsh because Castiel would be treated as less than human by the court, especially if the jury wasn’t very forgiving of what some would label his _affliction_. 

Castiel nearly threw up when they brought a handcuffed John out from the holding cell beneath the courtroom to sit with his own attorney, Miss Fowler, just a few metres to his left. He tried not to notice him, if he stared straight forward John was almost completely out of his line of vision, and that cold glare that made him shiver to the bone couldn’t be seen. The whole nature of the courtroom made him want to run for the hills and never turn back – maybe he’d go far by spending his life living in the mountains with some bears, at least they’d tear John to shreds if he ever found them. Only Dean’s supportive grip on his hand and the occasional encouraging whisper from Mr Montague was able to keep him strong. However, it also made him hate himself. What he’d endured was nothing compared to what Dean had gone through over the years and it couldn’t be easy for him, but there Cas was on the verge of a panic stricken melt down. He had a while to calm himself before he’d be called up for questioning, and Montague assured him that they had this in the bag – John was going down, it was just a matter of how long for. 

The first to the stand was the doctor who had treated both Dean and Castiel, by chance, after they’d been admitted to hospital. Montague asked him to describe the injuries and present the medical records as well as photos taken of both boys’ wounds while they’d been in hospital, which were shown on a projector which had been haphazardly placed in the corner of the room by the stand within clear view of the jury. The doctor had nothing else to say after that, so was taken into the separate room which held the rest of the witnesses – Bobby, Sam and, of all people, Dr Miller. Castiel had hoped they would have brought in another psychiatrist but apparently, completely unbeknownst to him, she was well regarded within the criminal justice circle, and this wasn’t the first time she’d appeared before the court to give evidence. She was under oath to remain unbiased, and give fact, but nothing else. 

“Dr Miller, could you please tell us what conclusions you have drawn from your psychoanalysis of Mr Winchester,” Miss Fowler asked, looking rather smug.

“Both major depression and bipolar disorder are likely and he also displays many clear signs that suggest he would benefit from treatment regarding anger management.”

“Thank you, how about the younger?” Miss Fowler prompted, she would really rather not enter this territory – she dreaded what kind of damage her client had done to his children, particularly the eldest, she could only hope it was nothing too drastic so that it wouldn’t damage their standing.

“Ah,” Dr Miller said, “he shows many signs of untreated childhood post-traumatic stress disorder, as well as borderline depression and excessive feelings of guilt which is common in victims of abuse. Unsurprisingly, he showed very little resentment towards his father for the violence he has allegedly suffered.”

“You say unsurprisingly,” Miss Fowler noted. “Why?”

“It isn’t uncommon for abuse victims to still harbour feelings of love towards their abuser. It’s not overly dissimilar to Stockholm’s syndrome and it doesn’t necessarily mean the violence was less traumatic for him.”

Fowler nodded, considering. “And regarding Mr Novak?” she said after a moment. 

“He showed all the normal responses to trauma, and his mental state regarding that is improving very quickly. Other than that, nothing we don’t already know – Asperger’s and anxiety disorder as is already noted.”

“You have treated Mr Novak before, correct?” 

“Yes, he was my patient on a number of occasions.”

“In that case, how can the court be sure that your perspective of this case is truly unbiased? One would assume your standing would lean towards the plaintiffs.”

“The relationship between doctor and patient is purely professional, I do not form any sort of bond between my clients that is any different to the doctor that treated Mr Novak for his physical wounds.”

Miss Fowler raised her slender eyebrow. “No further questions.”

“Mr Montague, do you have anything to add?” the judge, Judge Albert, asked from behind his stand. He was a short, stout man with mocha coloured skin and very little hair. He had a severe face which always sported a harsh glare.

“No, your honour. But I would like to call Mr Novak to the stand,” Montague responded. Judge Albert waved his hand in a gesture of approval, and Castiel forced himself to stand up, and make his way behind the podium. From this new position, he could see everything. A few metres directly in front of him was Dean, sat in the exact same place he’d left him beside the attorney’s briefcase. Mr Montague himself was stood in front of the stand, staring at him with soft eyes. Miss Fowler had made her way back to her desk to sit beside John and the police officer. That was the worst part, from here in the stand, he could see John Winchester staring at him with unforgiving eyes. He no longer had Dean’s comforting presence by his side, and he felt utterly isolated. He wanted to cry, but he didn’t let himself. He answered Montague’s questions as honestly as he could, thankful that they’d rehearsed this a good few times before today.

“Mr Novak, can you please describe the events of the morning of Monday 18th November?” Castiel recited his answer with great fluency and accuracy, his mouth working separately to his brain to retell the story despite the fact that his insides were turning over with anxiety. He took a deep calming breath when he had finished his tale. The worst was yet to come, he hadn’t been interrogated by Fowler yet but he’d been promised that she was absolutely ruthless.

“What reasons did Mr Winchester give for wanting to harm you?” Castiel swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and tried desperately to quell the fluttering butterflies in his stomach. Montague had forced him to admit it in their first meeting; none of this was Dean’s fault, but it did happen because of him, though inadvertently. Cas didn’t want to bring his relationship with Dean into this, but Montague was confident that it would be fine, and he’d even insisted that it was all important and helped them to build a water right case. 

“That I have wings, a-and…” he stared down at the chestnut wood of the podium in front of him.

“Go on,” Montague prompted.

“And because I-I’m with Dean,” he managed to say. He didn’t let himself look at the jury; just because it was illegal to discriminate towards people based on romantic preferences didn’t stop it from happening, the same with his wings. The laws were spineless at best, and most school aged children weren’t even thought that discrimination was a thing that happened. Ignorance is bliss, and they were raising a nation of ignorant children who themselves went on to discriminate purely because they didn’t know any better. There were no retching noises or cries of _God will damn you to hell Castiel Novak, repent your sins and seek forgiveness!_ or anything ridiculously like that from the jury, so he deemed it a small success.

Montague had no more questions for him, so took a seat while Miss Fowler approached Castiel with her fierce grey gaze locked onto him. She began without missing a beat, coming straight up with her first argument after reciting a clearly well-rehearsed speech about the grey area this case lay within. By the hard set of Montague’s jaw, Cas was sure it was probably entirely bullshit.

“Is it possible, ladies and gentlemen, that our young friend here provoked my client in some way? We all know how teenagers are, don’t we? They can often appear violent and intimidating, perhaps without meaning to, and we cannot be held responsible if we act in what we think is self-defence,” she said to the jury, not even acknowledging Castiel except to flash an evil smile his way every so often. The jury seemed split by her words, some of the older ones nodded mutely in agreement while the younger and slightly les senile narrowed their eyes or scoffed under their breaths. “Mr Novak,” she continued, “do you think it was possible that you came across to Mr Winchester as intimidating?”

Castiel’s eyes widened in horror, the story had been completely twisted. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He felt hopeless, his eyes filled with tears – he was being treated as if this was his fault, but he knew he’d done nothing wrong. He glanced past Fowler at Dean, who gave him a weak smile and a nod of reassurance. He just had to imagine he was speaking to Dean, not the accusatory lawyer. Dean, who trusted him and believed him and wouldn’t judge him. This was not his fault, this was _anything_ but his fault.

"N-No,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and repeated it louder and more firmly: “No.”

"Not a chance at all, Mr Novak?”

He thought back, had he been intimidating? Had be brought this on himself, like karma? _No_ , he decided firmly. It wasn’t his fault, he had done nothing wrong and no stuck up lawyer was going to trick him into believing otherwise. “D-Definitely not. I was just…walking. I didn’t even see him until he started punching me.”

"Were your wings on display that morning, Mr Novak?” the lawyer asked in a voice laced with disgust.

"Objection, your honour!” Montague called from his chair. “Discrimination towards a witness due to wings they may or may not have goes against code C of the Discrimination Law of 1997. Besides, violent acts towards a person based on wings, race, sexual orientation or lifestyle choices is a crime under that very same law, so Miss Fowler’s point is invalid.”

"Miss Fowler, your question is dismissed,” said Judge Albert. 

"Your honour, I have no further questions regarding the events of the 18th November, may I begin questioning for the child abuse case?” The judge nodded, inviting her to begin. “Mr Novak, you are listed as a witness for this case, but you never saw anything happen, what was your part in this?”

"I…I found him, and he was unconscious so I made Sam call an ambulance.”

"Alright, Mr Novak, what is your understanding of the issue? As far as you know, what was Mr Winchester doing in his home?”

"Um, he hit Dean…sometimes with a belt.”

"Just Dean? Not the youngest?” Castiel shook his head. “How do we know that this case of child abuse was not feigned by the eldest Winchester son? Perhaps he craved attention, it is a common thing for children these days. A single parent split between two children, and when one of them feels neglected why wouldn’t he lash out this way? If a parent was truly abusive, why would he only assault one child and not the other? Mr Novak, how did you come to find out about the alleged events?”

"Dean told me,” Castiel said, but added a quick “he showed me the bruises,” when he realised it was his word against an adults, he needed as much help as he could get.

"How do you know that Dean acquired the bruises at my client’s hand? You never saw it, and there are no witnessed so we--”

"False,” Montague interrupted, standing up from his chair. “Samuel Winchester saw the event in question on a number of occasions. May I call him to the stand, your honour? Provided Miss Fowler is complete with her questioning, of course.”

Castiel was relieved to finally be out of there, fully able to breathe again. He walked on shaky legs back to his seat beside Dean, but was met halfway by a wall of flesh that encircled him in its warm arms and led him by the hand back behind the desk. Half a second later, Sam was brought out from the back room and taken to the stand. He was only up there for a few minutes, and so was Bobby straight after. All was looking good, but he could feel several pairs of eyes firmly trained on him. He turned around to see the silently confident faces of Gabe, Ellen and Jo as well as a few other anonymous spectators who had also come to watch the show. Dean kept his arm slung around Cas’ waist while Sam and a very disgruntled looking Bobby were questioned and whispered gentle words of encouragement into his ear. He kissed Cas’ hair and noticed a few members of the jury turn their attention to them both. _That’s good_ , Dean reminded himself; it felt like a gross violation of privacy but it was essential for them to have the jury on their side, and what better way to do that than to play up their affectionate puppy love.

"I’d like to call Dean Winchester to the stand,” Montague called. With a final tight squeeze of Castiel’s body and a peck to his cheek he made his way up to the dock. He heard a few tiny _aww_ s from the jury and wanted to vomit. He saw Montague wink at him. Both he and Cas had been told to display their relationship as much as possible without being too tacky to make it seem more sincere than anything Fowler might try to play it off as. She was famed for her bizarre tactics, and was currently on a winning streak of her last nine cases. If she won this one, it would be her tenth consecutive success, and they couldn’t have that.

Montague had had the toughest time figuring out questions to ask Dean that would ensure John went down. Sam was easier, because he was honest by nature and could never find it in himself to lie or downplay the truth. Dean was torn. He still loved his father, though he didn’t want to admit it, and although he felt like he deserved every beating and every single lick of that belt he’d received, he knew it was wrong. That’s how Montague had told him to go about it – the hardest part had been trying to convince Dean that he wasn’t to blame.

"Mr Winchester, can you explain how you felt whilst living with your father?” This was the bit he dreaded the most. He found it extremely difficult to talk about his feelings on a good day, but now he had to explain his most private thoughts to a group of strangers and worse, with his father right there staring at him. His dad would hate him for it; he was supposed to be strong and bury his emotions rather than succumb to them. Montague had come up with a solution for that too, and that was for him to pretend that he was talking to someone he trusted. Castiel was the first person that came to mind, there were other people he trusted but he’d already told Cas practically everything anyway, which made it a lot easier for him to do it again. Sam could have been an option, but he was supposed to protect his little brother and he couldn’t be weak – he had a more equal standing with Cas. His eyes found Castiel’s and he somehow found the courage to speak, it didn’t last long before Cas had to drop his gaze but it was everything Dean needed.

"I was always…scared,” he said simply. Montague had told him to start this way, begin small and simple and build it up bit by bit.

"What were you scared of, Dean?” Montague asked.

"Messing up. I didn’t want to be a disappointment,” said Dean in a low voice, but still clear enough so that he could be easily understood by the jury. He stared down at the floor and drew his hand across his eyes – there were no tears there, he’d learnt to be hard-hearted from a pretty young age, but it was more for the jury’s benefit than anything – a move strategically calculated by Montague. “I tried to do better but…nothing was ever good enough.” Another sigh of sympathy from the jury. Montague asked a few more questions about feelings, _ugh_ , and Sam, his Uncle and his life in general before he took a seat and Fowler approached the stand. Dean wasn’t looking forward to being interrogated by her, and he dreaded to think how she was planning to twist things.

"Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Winchester, but from what I have gathered the violence that was extended to you was a form of punishment, would you say?”

"I guess so,” Dean agreed, failing to see where Fowler was going with this.

"Corporal punishment is not illegal under the laws of this state. Maybe we’re making a big deal out of something that is really quite simple. It is perfectly legal to use force to discipline unruly children. Mr Winchester, would you say your punishments were deserved?” 

Dean thought for a moment. He didn’t want to lie – he was under oath! Usually that wouldn’t bother him, but he felt it was necessary to tell the truth in front of the foreboding judge so he, Dean, wouldn’t go to hell or anything. That would suck. Plus, if they found out he’d lied about something later on, things could turn out much worse for him in the long run, and it could affect the trial as a whole. But telling the truth would only enhance Fowler’s argument. Hopefully the photos of his wounds were enough to make the jury see it from his side if he went about his answer in the right way.

He took a deep breath, Montague was staring at him with hopeful eyes; he had to get this right. He locked eyes with Cas while he answered. “I think…in most cases, yes – I deserved to be punished…but excessive violence was never necessary. A-And I don’t believe the law allows for that either.” He glanced over to the people whose eyes were firmly trained on him. Montague gave him a very small nod, Ellen sent him a thumbs up from her place in the audience – was an audience really necessary? – and Jo and Gabe smiled at him. Cas’ expression, as usual, was blank and unreadable.

Fowler asked a few more questions about his father, purposefully trying to trip Dean up into saying something that would support John’s defence, but Montague had taught him how to deal with those sorts of things and he just kept knocking them out of the park.

"May I ask, Mr Winchester, how you would describe your relationship with Mr Novak?

"Objection!” Montague yelled, rising to his feet.

"I’m going to allow it,” the judge decided, glaring at Fowler in a warning to be careful. Judge Albert was already decided on his take on the case, but he wanted to see where the defendant intended to go with this.

"Mr Winchester,” Fowler prompted.

"Erm, I’m not sure what you mean,” Dean admitted. He really didn’t want to say the wrong thing here, especially if it was going to affect the case in any way.

"Let’s start smaller then. How long have the few of you been together?”

"About three and a half months.”

"I understand you have a rather complicated living situation, would you care to explain it to us?”

"Your honour, I fail to see how this is in relation to the case,” Montague protested once again. Judge Albert gave him a warning look and invited Fowler to continue. The woman was smart, she knew what she was doing and the judge had seen many cases where she had managed to take something completely unrelated to a case and twist it in her client’s favour. He hoped to God the kid was clever enough to deflect it.

"Um, we live together. At my uncle’s house, and his brother lives with us, too.” He looked at Montague for confirmation, but got nothing more than a shrug which he suspected had more to do with Fowler’s peculiar questions than his response.

"You share a room I presume?” Dean nodded. Fowler looked satisfied. “Now, what on earth would two teenage boys possibly be doing in a room together by themselves with no adult supervision?” she inquired. Dean ground his teeth together, and he saw Castiel fidget uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye. “Mr Winchester, are you aware that under the Prevention Act of 1912 regarding sexual assault committed by winged persons that homosexual intercourse with one such person under the legal age of twenty-one is a felony? Eighteen for heterosexual couples but that clearly doesn’t apply here. Might I add that this law clearly states that a concerned parent can demand for the conviction of the winged person in question? Well, I have a concerned parent right here who is not very happy with Mr Novak.”

Dean glared daggers towards Miss Fowler. The judge had his head in his hands and was murmuring something under his breath – the last time that law had been brought up during a trial was back in the early nineties, in fact most authorities chose to completely disregard the law should anybody try to mention it. Well, ones who had been through a decent college education which taught anti-discrimination policies at least.

"Not that it’s any of your damn business,” Dean growled, leaning forward over the podium so that he was eye to eye with the attorney, “but Cas and I haven’t done anything.”

"I am fully aware of your sexual deviancy, Mr Winchester. You have quite the reputation,” Fowler whispered with an evil smirk. Dean had to restrain himself from lashing out and breaking her face, but he figured that wouldn’t bode well for his case.

"Please let us return to the matter at hand,” Montague demanded impatiently, quite obviously boiling with rage.

"I’m simply reminding you all that the law--”

”Miss Fowler!” Judge Albert barked. “That is an outdated, discriminatory law that I’m sure you know is currently passing through congress as we speak in the hopes of being discredited entirely. And in case you have forgotten, Mr Singer is Mr Winchester’s legal guardian and the only one who would legally be able to make a claim should he wish to. He has shown no interest in that whatsoever. In addition to that, you have the audacity to bring a client’s personal life, completely unrelated to the case, into the courtroom. I could have you suspended for that.” Fowler crossed her arms defensively across her chest and drummed each of her manicured talons across her opposite arms. “If there are no further questions, Mr Winchester you may be seated. Miss Fowler, if you could bring your client to the stand.”

Both Montague and Fowler interrogated John infallibly for close to an hour without stopping for a breath. Dean and Castiel returned to their little performance – neither of them missed the glances that were coming their way from the jury every now and then. Dean was nervous, but he tried his best to bury it – his father being in the stand meant that he was closer to him and had a clear view that he didn’t have earlier. He held Castiel’s hand tight and let the other boy snuggle slightly into his side in a way that was both subtle and sent a clear message of affection both towards Dean and towards the prying eyes of the jury. At one point Dean started gently running his fingers over the feathers of Castiel’s battered wings in a show of comfort, the poor lad’s wings were starting to ache as the always did around this time before he’d had his second batch of painkillers for the day. Dean made sure to be extra gentle and murmur soft words into Cas’ ear, earning him a smile of approval from Montague – that was just the kind of thing the jury would adore. Montague had likened the court to a stage show - had suggested they watch Chicago - Dean refused to admit that he'd had _All That Jazz_ stuck in his head ever since - as well, because it depicted a surprisingly accurate image of the court - where everyone was trying to out-perform each other to win the hearts of the jury and bypass the truth. _It’s all a circus, kid. A three ring circus._

However, every so often he caught a foul glare being sent his way by his father, and he knew that if John somehow came away from this he’d be coming for him. Or worse, coming for Cas. He found himself hoping beyond hope that his father went down for his crimes. More to comfort himself than Cas, he went to place a tender kiss on the shell of his angel’s ear.

“You dare, you little cocksucker!” John boomed in his direction. He hadn’t realised he was being watched by anyone other than the jury, he’d been tuning out the interrogation so well that he’d partially forgotten that John was there at all. The crowd erupted in anger, heated shouts filled the room and within milliseconds John was beign restraining by three massive burly men who had been standing guard – Dean hadn’t even noticed that his father was coming towards him. He heard Fowler curse under her breath, it must be hard trying to win a case with a person who was so hot-headed and prone to violent outbursts. Everyon began to calm down slightly when Judge Albert began banging his gavel against his mahogany desk.

“I think everyone here has heard enough. Miss Fowler, Mr Montague, if you would each like to give your closing statements.” Each of the lawyers turned to the jury in turn and reeled off a well prepared final sentence before everyone was dismissed.

Everyone filed out of the room and went to eat a late lunch while the jury deliberated, and John was taken into the holding cell hopefully somewhere secure in the building. Nobody mentioned the outburst in the courtroom; they just pretended it didn’t happen. The fragile silence wasn't broken once while they ate, instead a nervous awkwardness washed over everybody - they all breathed a unanimous sigh of relief when they were called back in some forty minutes later.

“Has the jury come to a majority decision?” Judge Albert asked, rubbing his temple with two of his stubby fingers. He looked exhausted and irritated.

One member of the jury, an older woman with curly white hair and tortoiseshell glasses, stood up. “Indeed, we have. We find John Winchester guilty of one count of violent assault, one count of continuous child abuse and a single count of breaching of the peace.”

“Any recommendations for the sentence?” asked the judge, scribbling something down on his notepad.

“We merely request that, on top of whatever conclusion is drawn to, Mr Winchester remain on the child offender’s register for life.”

“Thank you, Ms Farley.” He nodded appreciatively in her direction and she took a seat again, Judge Albert turned his attention to John. “John Winchester, you are sentenced to seven years in prison with no option for bail or shortened sentence due to good behaviour. After release you will be held to a restraining order against Dean Winchester, Samuel Winchester and Castiel Novak. Depending on good behaviour you may be granted highly supervised access in the future should your children want it. You will also spend life on the child offender's register and discriminatory behaviour register. Case closed.” He banged his gavel against the hard wood surface and collected his documents before leaving the room through the door behind his seat. It had been a very long day.

* * *

Anna sat on down on the doorstep beneath the porch with her suitcases – at least she was sheltered from the snow here – and waited. She was certain that this was the right house, and she hoped it was otherwise she’d have a lot of difficult explaining to do. She knew the trial had started at ten this morning, but it was now close to three. Of course, she was aware that sometimes these things took time, but patience had never been her strong suit. She prayed they’d get back soon, she was desperate to hear the verdict and to see her two favourite brothers – she’d missed them like crazy.

The tell-tale sound of a car's engine made her jump to her feet, and sure enough mere seconds later the truck (containing Bobby and Ellen) and the Impala (containing the rest of the brood) pulled up into the driveway. Castiel was out of the car before Dean had even pulled it to a stop and ran towards Anna to attack her with a gigantic bear hug. She smiled to herself, a hug from Cas was a rare thing - he was completely closed off to affection most of the time. Her smile faltered when she realised the main reason for the change was probably Dean. _Oh well,_ she thought. The kid had done good by Cas and that was all that mattered. _People can grow,_ Anna reminded herself. Now would be an awful time to hold Dean to the person he'd been when she knew him, even if that wasn't exactly a long time ago. 

“Jeez, Cas, look at your wing,” Anna commented, running some of his ebony feathers between her fingers.

“The other guy came out worse,” Gabriel joked, pulling Anna into a friendly hug. When they pulled away from each other she shot him an expectant look. “Seven years.”

“Only seven?” she exclaimed, letting her disgust show on her face. That monster would have killed her baby brother, not to mention what he’d done to Dean - okay, she wasn't exactly friendly with him, but still there were certain things she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy - and he hadn’t even gotten a decade. 

“I know,” Bobby moaned with a glare on his face as he slammed the door to the truck. “Pathetic.”

“Pick your battles, Singer,” Ellen warned, she knew the chances of them getting a longer sentence by appeal was highly unlikely - all they could do now was just grateful for the next seven years they could spend not worrying about John at all. On top of that the restraining order should be enough to keep him away from them.

“Let me introduce you to everyone,” Gabe said, swinging his arm around Anna’s shoulder and taking the opportunity to change the subject before everyone grabbed their pitchforks and ran back to the courthouse to stage a protest. “Bobby and Ellen, of course.”

“Hi, darlin’,” Ellen said. Bobby nodded in her direction. She smiled back.

“Jo,” Gabriel said next. “If she mentions anything about a knife collection, run and hide as fast as you can.”

“Shut it, dickface,” she said, kicking him in the shin and making him wince. Anna made a mental note to get to know her better.

“This is Sammy.”

“It’s Sam,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Gabriel. 

“And…well, you know Dean.” Dean smiled awkwardly and rubbed the hand that wasn’t entwined with Cas' across the back of his neck. Castiel frowned, not happy to be reminded about Anna and Dean’s previous relationship - he'd completely forgotten it until now, or maybe he’d simply chosen to conveniently cast it from his mind because it was much easier - and less awkward - that way. After all, it wasn’t always a good idea to bring up how your boyfriend once fucked your sister. It didn't take someone as smart as Cas to realise that would mess things up a little bit.

“Uh – hi, Anna,” he said, staring down at the floor. He wouldn’t - couldn't - say he regretted what he’d done with Anna, it had been fun and he’d enjoyed it, just like he’d enjoyed his time with every other girl or guy he’d spent the night with before. He simply wished he’d known back then that he’d end up with her brother in his first serious relationship, though, that way he could maybe change things so that it hadn’t happened - or maybe only go to third base - and save them all a great deal of awkwardness.

“Hey, Dean,” Anna said brightly before leaning over to mock whisper in Bobby’s ear. “Don’t give him any alcohol, he gets awfully sloppy and I’m sure he wouldn’t want to disappoint,” she joked with a wink in Dean’s direction. Dean’s mouth dropped open in shock. Had she really just said that? He tried to remember back to that night, it was quite a while ago and he’d had more than a few other, ahem, experiences since then but he was sure he’d been anything but sloppy. Dean Winchester was never _sloppy_. Mutual satisfaction was importantl it was beneficial for him when his conquests went around singing his praises, or it got more willing participants on his tail at least. His logical mind told him that she was joking, but damn if that wasn’t a low blow.

“I’ll keep that in mind, kid,” Bobby promised, picking up her suitcase and taking it into the house, quickly followed by Ellen, Sam and Gabe who were all trying to stifle their laughter at Dean's horrified expression.

“I think I’m going to like you,” Jo decided, linking her arm through Anna’s and leading her into the house.

Dean stood outside dumbfounded for a moment, his ego severely wounded, with Castiel still firmly placed by his side. “Dean?” he asked. “Should we go inside now?”

“What? Oh, huh, yeah…” he responded absentmindedly as he began to walk up the porch steps and through the threshold with Cas’ hand still tight in his.

“Dean?” asked Castiel again and Dean turned his attention towards the boy. “I don’t think I’ll be allowing you to consume alcohol any more,” he said with a sly smirk.

“Shut up,” Dean said, lightly scuffing him upside the head with his free hand.

* * *

The following morning Jo declared over breakfast that she and Anna were taking Castiel shopping – he groaned at the thought, he despised shopping with a passion. Walking around overcrowded stores full of people sweating and children screaming and obese people who reeked of fast food and grease. He hated it all, he realised he was being more than a little judgemental, but he wasn’t exactly a people person. He didn’t even want to leave the house, and now he was being dragged out against his will. He still had bruises on his face and the last thing he wanted was a series of invasive stares sent his way. The only reason he agreed to succumb to their doubtlessly evil plan was because he had yet to get a Christmas present for Dean. Worse still, he had no idea what to get for him, and it wasn’t like he could afford to splash out, as much as he might want to.

They nagged him relentlessly while he bound his wings – leaving them out in a place as busy as a mall was suicide, they’d get damaged for sure – and continued to do so for his lack of enthusiasm during the car journey. They’d taken Dean’s Impala, Jo loved to drive it but she didn’t doubt for a second that Dean meant it when he said that if she hurt his Baby he’d kill her, her children and her grandchildren.

“Don’t worry, Cas, we’ll find you something great to get Dean,” Jo promised. He was currently walking through the mall with a girl on each of his arms, and he couldn’t possibly feel or look any more uncomfortable. The girls jabbered over his head about what they’d find him to get for Dean and before long they were suggesting things that were highly inappropriate.

“Ooh, look!” Anna exclaimed, “Victoria’s Secret, why don’t we get something from there?” 

“Hey, and it doesn’t matter if you don’t use it for a while – the anticipation will kill him,” Jo added, nodding violently. “Now, what could we get?” she asked, putting a finger to her lips and pretending to be deep in thought. Castiel had caught onto this game already, after all they hadn’t stopped playing it since they entered the shopping centre – one of them would suggest something and then they’d start describing things such as Dean's reaction while unwrapping said present, and the other would add to it and the game would continue until Castiel caved and told them to cut it out or they got bored with the tales of that particular item.

“How about some nice satiny panties?” Anna suggested. “You could wear them for him, he’d love that.”

“Anna, you are my sister. I would strongly advise you don’t spend too much time thinking about me wearing satiny panties.”

Anna’s smile fell and her mouth twisted downwards as she quickly realised her mistake and images she tried hard to dispel paraded through her mind. 

“Dean could wear them,” Jo offered with a wink. “I heard a thing or two about him from Rhonda Hurley.” She was the girl a town over, one of the many chicks Dean had had a one night stand with during the summer. He really didn’t want to know what Jo was referring to, or even how she came to know so much about Dean’s sexual habits. Then again, most of his experiences were public knowledge by this point. 

“Ooh, spill!” Anna demanded. While Jo told the story Cas tried his best to zone out, but their words accompanied by images he couldn’t shake off attacked his mind. Before long he’d learnt, unwillingly, about Dean being tied down to a bed wearing nothing but a pair of pink, satiny panties and also that Rhonda Hurley was a kinky bitch. She had a portfolio almost as extensive as Dean’s. Anna made some sort of squealing noise and exploded into laughter when Jo finished explaining – she had a smug look on her face. “Well, I’m going to VS,” said Anna after the fits of laughter had subsided. “I’ll meet you where the food is.” Without another word, she disappeared into the shop. It looked rather daunting from where Castiel was standing, the walls were a dark, seductive purple and covered in posters of women in lingerie and men in handcuffs. He quickly averted his eyes.

Without Anna to provoke her, Jo started being actually helpful and before long they ended up in a video shop looking at a collection of VHS videos – there wasn’t a lot to choose from, but Dean refused to swap out his old, rickety VHS player for a new DVD one so they didn’t have much choice.

“Is it true?” Jo asked while they examined the collection in front of them, in an obvious attempt at nonchalance. “What Dean said in court yesterday? About…”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, he immediately caught onto what she was talking about – more proof that he was making shocking progress on the communication front, ordinarily someone would have to spell it out for him very simply until he understood. Cas nodded.

“Never? Not even some good ol’ heavy petting?” Castiel cocked his head to the side and gave her a confused look, he wasn’t really familiar with all of these slang terms. “Like, touching…in places.” He shook his head and stared down at the VHS he held in his hands. “Are you scared?”

“A little bit,” he answered truthfully.

“Why?” she asked, confused. The way Dean acted now that Cas was around was like nothing she’d ever seen in him before, he was far more gentle and considerate with Cas than he had been with any of his other partners. She’d just assumed that that easy intimacy they shared was a publicly acceptable echo of what went on between the sheets. But apparently there were no sheets, nor anything going on between them.

“He’s just so…experienced,” Castiel said. It was the second time he was having this conversation, but when he’d had it with Anna she hadn’t done an awful lot to convince him – all he’d really got out of her was that he was, in her words, amazing in bed. If anything, though originally somewhat comforting, that had only added to his anxiety about the situation as time passed; he didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” she asked. He didn’t respond. “Like, you know he’ll make it good for you, what’ve you got to be scared about?” He shrugged his shoulders but said nothing else. Her mouth opened into a little ‘o’ shape when the realisation hit her a moment later. It almost took her by surprise that the thought that Cas was still a virgin has never crossed her mind. Perhaps that said a little bit about her and the people she deemed her friends, but she could evaluate that later. “You’ve never done it before have you?”

“I’ve never had occasion,” he said flatly. “I had no friends before Dean.”

Jo sighed, but quickly jumped onto his train of thought. “Cas, you won’t be bad. And you know how I know that? Because Dean cares about you a hell of a lot more than he cared about any of those other people, and that’s what’ll make it good. Anyway, he’ll wait until you’re ready – don’t dive in at the deep end before you know how to swim, you know what I’m saying?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion. Jo stifled a chuckle, Cas wasn’t so great and understanding analogies. 

“What I mean is, take it as slow as you like, he’ll still be there when you’re ready.” She saw the doubt on Castiel’s expression and decided to keep arguing her case. “The way he is with you is different to how he’s been with anybody else. You’re special, Cas.”

“But why would he want to wait?”

“I’m not saying he does,” she said, picking up another video and vaguely nodding to herself. “He will, though.”

“Why?” Castiel demanded, quickly becoming irritated. 

“Trust me, it ain’t as fun if one person isn’t in it wholeheartedly. Consent is sexy, baby,” she said, nudging him. An elderly woman on the other side of the aisle scoffed in disapproval at the conversation she’d obviously been eavesdropping on – they’d both been so distracted they hadn’t even noticed her there – and walked away with her nose in the air. Jo rolled her eyes before continuing. “Dean hasn’t slept with anyone since Lisa, and they’ve been broken up since…start of September…that’s nearly five months ago. Would he do that if he wasn’t serious about you?” Jo sighed again, she was going to have to spell it out really clearly for Cas before he fully understood what she was trying to say. She turned to face him and rested one of her hands lightly on his shoulders. “He wants to sleep with you, God don’t I know it, but he wants it to happen on your terms – he wants it to mean something more. Underneath all that bravado he’s a sentimental son of a bitch.”

Castiel nodded, content that he understood. It didn’t make a great deal of sense to him, but then again he wasn’t too well educated on anything remotely sexual. Nine times out of ten, when someone brought it up he wanted to cringe and hide under a table. Luckily, Jo had caught him on a good day, or maybe he’d just slowly become resistant after the other, really not appropriate things Jo and Anna had said this morning and the slow progress he was making as a whole. 

“We got it,” Jo decided, lifting up a massive box set of VHS videos for Cas to see. He smiled and nodded in approval – it was such an obvious choice, he was stupid for not having thought of it before. He almost started squealing, completely relieved that he – or Jo, rather – had finally found something.

* * *

“Hurry it up, Samantha, we’re gonna be late!” Dean called up the stairs – they had to make it to the hotel by one otherwise their reservation would be cancelled, and Sam had claimed that he was ready and packed last night. Clearly, that had been a lie.

“We got plenty of time, Dean,” Bobby said, though impatiently. He wanted to get going, Cas’ family was supposed to get there a little after one and it was now half twelve. It didn’t take long to get the hotel, it was just outside of Lawrence, but he didn’t want to leave them waiting.

Eventually Sam came bounding down the stairs, dragging his suitcase unceremoniously behind him. His hair was ruffled and disorderly; he’d overslept and hadn’t had a chance to even comb it yet. Bobby had let him have a lie in because he’d thought the kid was all but ready; he made a mental note to double check in the future.

“Let’s go, go, go!” Dean shouted, clapping his hands harshly to hurry up his little brother so they could get on their way. Bobby and Ellen took the truck while Dean, Castiel, Sam, Jo, Anna and Gabe went in the Impala – it was very cramped to say the least, especially with all of the luggage. And the wings. Castiel called shotgun the second they stepped out of the threshold, earning several loud protests and a pat on the back between his exposed wings – they were still in the process of healing and remained a little bit tender – from Dean, who was driving. It was a bit of a squeeze in the back seat, and Sam ended up sat on Gabriel’s lap (he was a little too large but they made do) to make room for Anna and Gabe’s wings. Jo ended up keening forward and pressing her forehead to her knees to avoid the two siblings’ bickering – they were repeatedly whacking each other with their wings over the top of her and Sam was giggling like a child.

Dean was thrilled when they finally pulled into the hotel’s car park and everyone toppled out of the vehicle and onto the gravel without ripping his Baby to shreds. They unloaded the suitcases – they’d all packed a hell of a lot considering they were only staying here for a few days – from the trunk and the floor of the back seat before going to meet Bobby in the hotel’s foyer.

“Double?” Bobby asked, raising his eyebrows as he handed Dean the key to the room he’d be sharing with Cas. His second mistake of this trip had been letting Dean book the rooms. He didn’t have much of a problem with Dean and Cas sharing a room at home, he had ears like a hawk and would hear if anything inappropriate happened. Just because he knew of Dean’s reputation and was well aware that he wasn’t about to take a vow of celibacy any time soon didn’t mean that Bobby had to like it. He was taking his duty as Dean’s legal guardian very seriously.

“Oh!” Dean exclaimed, pretending to look surprised. “I thought I’d booked a twin room, what a pity!”

“Don’t worry, kid, I got them to change it round so we have adjoining rooms.” Dean’s innocent smile faded into a grimace. 

Everyone went to their rooms and Dean was disappointed to find that Bobby and Ellen’s room – which they’d forced Jo and Sam to share with them – was indeed adjoined by a flimsy door between the king sized bed and the window. Their room was lovely, though. A very minimalist design with a bed in the centre and a bathroom off to the side which contained a large circular bathtub with Jacuzzi features. In the main room there was a large flat screen on the wall over the chest of drawers opposite the bed. This room had definitely been worth the money.

“This is so unfair!” Jo complained, throwing open the adjoining door and storming into their room and throwing herself down on the bed.

“We’re gonna have to do something about that door,” Dean decide. Castiel wasn’t paying much attention, instead focussing on unpacking everything they’d brought with them. He’d already taken out the two photos – the one of his family, and the one of Dean’s – and put them on the bedside table alongside the three books he’d brought with him and was now concentrating on arranging his and Dean’s clothes in the closet by garment then by colour making sure they were visibly split into different sections of the wardrobe, occasionally pausing to stand back and check his work. 

He hated unpacking, but packing in the first place had been far worse. It would have taken much longer if Dean hadn’t helped him out – actually, Dean had done most of the work. All Castiel had done was sat on the bed stroking his wings while Dean had told him the things they would pack and showed him exactly where everything was going inside the suitcase. knowing where everything was had calmed him significantly.

“Damn, this bed is comfy,” Jo commented, taking a moment to bounce up and down on it before returning to the reason why she’d joined them. Her eyes turned annoyed and her lips set into a hard line. “I have to sleep on a fucking sofa bed.”

“At least you’re not sharing with this nut,” Dean joked affectionately, jerking his thumb in Cas’ direction.

“Dean, you’re not really gonna make him unpack by himself, are you?” said Jo, having noticed that Castiel was currently narrowing his eyes at one of Dean’s plaid shirts and trying to decide if the pattern was closer to green or blue.

“He wanted to!” Dean protested, not liking Jo’s accusatory tone. He glanced over at Cas, but it didn’t look like he was even listening to their conversation. Unpacking might have been stressful for him, and Dean had no doubt that Cas didn’t like doing it, but the boy liked to organise things and see where everything was (hence their carefulness whilst packing the day before), which was much easier to do in an open closet than a confined suitcase.

Jo shook her head in mock disgust at Dean’s laziness. “You coming downstairs to wait for everyone?” she asked. Dean looked over at Cas, who had just placed the shirt with the rest of Dean’s blues. He suddenly regretted choosing to pack so many shirts (he needed his layers), but Ellen and Jo had both taught him there was no such thing as over packing. 

“We’ll meet you down there,” he said after a moment. Jo left to go wait in the foyer with everyone else for Cas’ siblings to arrive, but Dean knew that interrupting Castiel right now would do nothing but add further stress, so he patiently waited while Cas finished up. Everyone had already arrived by the time they got downstairs, and Cas shared a very brief embrace with each of his siblings, being extra careful to avoid Satan the Demon Dog while he gave Luci a one armed hug and shook Nick’s hand. 

After the Novaks had checked in and sorted out their rooms (Anna and Gabriel were sharing, as were Rachel and Inias and Nick, Luci and Satan, whilst Michael insisted on having a room to himself) they all reconvened in the hotel’s lounge area by the old log fire. It wasn’t long until they’d all had their fair share of celebratory champagne and someone - Jo - had suggested they order some tequila and play Deprivation. 

“Never have I ever…” said Rachel, pressing her fingers to her lips and blinking three times, deep in thought, “…had sex in public.”

Nobody moved for a second and Rachel looked disappointed, until Bobby, Dean and Luci all simultaneously picked up their glasses and downed a single shot each. Rachel looked pleased with herself and tallied up her points on the napkin in front . 

Next it was Inias’ turn. “Never have I ever, um, shagged anyone with wings,” he said, looking rather pleased with himself. Dean and Nick both took a shot. Sam made a faux gagging sound, not liking how the questions had quickly turned so sexual, but not exactly surprised by it either. He was still irritated from not being allowed to play – he was twelve for Christ’s sake, not a baby – but had decided to use this opportunity and his comrades drunkenness to gather information that he could use for his own benefit later on.

“Never have I ever had sex in a car,” said Michael, seeming far more friendly (he was actually smiling) now that he had a few drinks in him. 

“I swear you’re all jus’ ganging up on me,” Dean slurred before he and Anna both took a drink without making eye contact. Castiel rolled his eyes, if there was one thing he’d learnt from his time with Dean it was that he was a dramatic drunk.

“Never have I ever gotten head while driving,” Gabriel said, staring at Dean with raised eyebrows.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean complained, putting another shot to his lips and coughing when it burnt his throat.

“Dean, you were the only one so you have to tell the story,” Sam reminded him from the corner with a devilish grin. Dean ground his teeth together and glared at his little brother.

“I think I should tell this one,” Bobby said, straightening up in his chair. The man had a few years more than everyone else under his belt, so he had taken more drinks and as a result was a little bit more drunk than everyone else present. Dean’s eyes widened, he did not want Bobby to start this now. “I reckon it was about two years ago…Dean’s daddy taught him to drive ‘bout then so he was showin’ off, weren’t you boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, burying his face in the hand that wasn’t being gripped by Castiel – who was looking far too interested in this story for him to be comfortable.

“And…who was the lad you were with?”

“Danny Cartwright,” Dean said, utterly embarrassed. Usually he didn’t remember the names of the people he’d slept with or the situations it had happened in - he'd stopped keeping track after about thirty - but this guy had been the exception. Not because he'd been particularly outstanding but rather due to the fact that none other than Bobby Singer had caught him driving around the side roads of Lawrence (Bobby had been out fishing by the lake) while he was getting his dick sucked. The older boy had made a bet that Dean couldn’t keep control of the car for the whole time; neither of them had gotten a chance to see who would have won that bet before they’d gotten caught. What had made the event especially awkward was that nobody outside of the people at school knew that he also liked guys. The old man had been more than a little more shocked at the revelation. 

Dean hid his face in discomfiture while Bobby told the tale, and shook his head in disbelief when everyone, even Cas, started laughing at his expense.

“Never have I ever fucked a dude,” said Nick proudly when the laughter at Dean’s ordeal had died down – possibly expecting to get another story out of Bobby before anybody passed out.

“Joanna Beth, you’d better put that drink down,” Ellen said whilst downing her own. Jo pulled a face at her mother and took the shot without breaking eye contact while Luci, Dean, Anna and Rachel all took their own.

“No drink for you, little bird?” Luci asked, nudging Cas’ shoulder and making him blush furiously and study the floor intently. He shook his head shyly.

“Don’t be a bitch, Luce,” Gabriel said, the alcohol in his system putting him a little on the defensive side. She held Satan up in the air and pretended to throw him at her brother, making the little dog yelp loudly and start thrashing in her grip.

“Y’know, if anyone in this family was gonna be gay I’d have thought it would be Gabe,” Inias commented with a completely straight face. Gabriel’s mouth dropped open when the other Novaks nodded in agreement.

“Oh, yes, I forgot I often enjoy walking around with several cocks in my mouth and a few up my ass,” he said bitterly. 

“Okay,” Luci interrupted, stroking Satan thoughtfully. “Never have I ever petted the head of a wild catfish,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

“I don’t think you understood the game, Luci-Goosey,” Anna mocked. “If nobody’s done it you have to take a drink.”

Luci pulled a disgusted face, she hated the smell of tequila and the taste was even worse, and held her nose while downing the shot. A moment later Sam’s little voice chirped up from the corner:

“You would’ve gotten a shot from me.”

* * *

The game had ended at about eleven o’clock when everyone felt it was time they should turn in in order to be up bright and early Christmas morning, or rather when Bobby had run out of humiliating stories about Dean to tell everyone. They’d continued chatting despite themselves – but were denied any more alcohol by the guy working behind the bar who Dean could have sworn had been listening the entire time – until it began to get close to half one when they all finally retired to their rooms.

“I don’t wanna sleep,” Dean slurred, the alcohol still potent in his system, while he groomed Castiel’s wings, he was getting pretty good at it now and had mastered the technique of straightening out the feathers. It was almost second nature to him now; not even the alcohol in his system hindered the delicate touch of his fingers between the feathers.

“Then don’t,” Castiel suggested.

“I wanna do something fun,” he moaned. “Let’s do something fun.”

“Like what?”

Dean thought for a moment. They were in a hotel, there was bound to be something fun they could do around here. Everyone was asleep, which meant most places would be very easily accessible. Then it came to him. “Pool?”

Castiel frowned; he knew that it was definitely against the hotel’s rules to swim after hours because of the lack of lifeguard which meant the hotel was liable for any injuries or whatever. It was just a bunch of legal crap, really. He was about to protest when he thought, _what the hell?_ He’d never really done anything just for the sake of it, so why not start now? He'd had shockingly little during their game of Deprivation, but just enough for some of his fine reasoning to fly out of the window. It was Christmas, why shouldn't they have a little fun?

The second he'd nodded his head, Dean was on his feet and bounding out the door like an excited bunny rabbit. He waited in the hallway for a total of three seconds whilst Cas locked the door before grabbing the boy's hand and dragging him down to the indoor pool. Dean approached the glass door as if it was a grenade, and tentatively pushed it open - it had been left unlocked - and stared at the water. The pool was massive, and the water was luminous crystal blue - not the murky navy of the lake the last time they'd been swimming together. Because it was indoors the staff hadn’t bothered to cover it up for the night, and they probably suspected nobody would be coming down here in the early hours of Christmas morning. Dean wasted no time in stripping down to his boxers and diving straight in rather inelegantly. He came up a moment later, gasping for air and shivering.

“Holy shit,” he cursed, treading water in order to keep himself afloat in the deep water, and remembering the advertisement on the hotel’s website which had informed him that they kept the pool constantly heated. “This is _not_ heated.”

“I suspect they feel no need to waste electricity during the night hours,” Cas suggested, suppressing a grin. 

“Get in here, you dick,” Dean said, swimming over so that he was closer to where Castiel stood at the water’s edge just to splash water all over his jeans. Castiel swallowed a lump in his throat and wrapped his wings around himself so he could stroke his feathers while averting his eyes from Dean’s expectant gaze. “You shy, angel?”

Castiel didn’t respond, so Dean took the liberty of swimming in the opposite direction and dipping underneath the water’s surface every now and then to give him some privacy. Moments later, Castiel cannonballed into the pool, naked except for his underwear. Dean was by his side before he even had time to return to the surface and complain about the low temperature.

“Race you to the other side?” Dean asked, gesturing across the length of the pool with a competitive shimmer in his eye.

“Dean--” Castiel was about to tell him that he, Cas, was at an obvious disadvantage because wings made it a little difficult to swim as they made him a hell of a lot less streamlined, but Dean was already gliding through the water. He followed suit and managed to catch up and meet Dean at the other side by holding his wings above the surface, heavy with the weight of the water that had collected on them.

“I win,” said Dean with a grin.

“I bet I can do more somersaults,” he retorted, challenging Dean with his eyes. 

“Oh, it’s on.” They both dove under and simultaneously started rolling underneath the surface, keeping count in their heads and both feeling equally as competitive. This time Castiel was at an advantage as his wings allowed him to propel himself more quickly and by the time they emerged Cas had managed twelve, while Dean had managed eleven – it was a pretty good win considering he wasn’t nearly as strong a swimmer as Dean was.

“Hmmph,” Dean frowned. “I can hold my breath for longer!” he declared childishly, succumbing to his desire to win this little tournament. Castiel raised his eyebrows questioningly and they instantly dove under at the same time. Castiel was sure he had this one in the bag, he'd gotten good at this due to the many times he'd forgotten to breathe and had to prompt his body back into action again. If he just held out a little longer than normally he should be able to win hands down.

After a few seconds Dean forced himself to open his eyes, ignoring the sting of chlorine, to see Cas staring right back at him with a triumphant smile, showing no sign of faltering any time soon. Dean tried to stare him down, but almost a minute later he found it impossible to keep it up – dammit, Cas was distracting – and returned to the surface. Castiel followed a moment later with a cocky smile on his face.“Don’t you look at me like that,” Dean pouted. Castiel’s smile grew wider and Dean splashed water in his face. 

"What was that for?" Castiel asked, unable to contain his boyish grin. The amount of satisfaction he got from simply beating Dean at some childish water games was overwhelming. 

"Winning," Dean said, still pouting and splashed him again. Castiel feigned an offended look and splashed him right back, taking a big breath and ducking under the water to avoid the next one - it didn't make much sense if he thought about it, but it didn't give Dean the satisfaction of having hit him with a wall of water, which was what he was aiming for. He held his wings close to his body while he swam beneath the water's surface and he popped up behind Dean and hurled himself on top of him, sending them both crashing below the water, a second later. "Dammit, Cas," Dean spluttered, splashing him again, "You could've killed me!" _Always the drama queen._

"But I didn't," he smiled and began swimming away from Dean towards the edge of the pool so no more splashes could follow him. He hopped up onto the side with his legs dangling over the edge, his calves still submerged in the water. Dean followed him but stayed in the water, hovering between Cas’ thighs to press little kisses on them. When he deemed that Castiel had been kissed enough for now, he rested his head against his left leg and looked up at him, smiling. It was moments like this when he felt thrilled that Castiel was his. He’d drawn Cas out of his shell, it had taken a while but it had all been worth it because two or three months ago he wouldn’t have been able to sit between Cas’ legs without the boy feeling uncomfortable, but now he looked completely at ease, a hand gently carding through Dean's hair. 

“Hey!” a booming voice called, they both turned to see a security guard standing in the entryway, probably having come to lock the doors upon realising he hadn't done it. “You’re not supposed to be in here! What’s your room number?”

Without a glance in each other’s direction for confirmation they both acted at the exact same time, hopping out of the pool and gathering their clothes in a hurry before legging it out of the side entrance in the opposite direction, the security guard hot on their tail. They managed to scramble into the lift in the main foyer and get it closed - after desperately smashing the _close doors_ button more times than necessary - before the guard could follow them into it. Cas dug the key card out of his jeans pocket and they both sprinted to their room and entered it, sure the guard would be following them up the stairs, and fully able to see them due to the layout of the hotel, and the added fact that the elevator was made of glass, slamming the door behind them, dropping their clothes on the floor and bursting into fits of laughter.

“I told you we’d get caught,” Castiel said.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Dean laughed. Castiel wasn’t laughing anymore; he was giving Dean one of those intense stares like he did every now and then. It was a little bit unnerving. Dean's smile faded and he stared back at Castiel, both of them breathing heavily. Cas slowly and cautiously outstretched his hand and placed it against Dean’s cheek. Dean smiled weakly, but Cas didn’t return it. Instead he closed his eyes and leaned forward until his lips met Dean’s in a gentle kiss. It only lasted a few seconds, but they weren’t parted for long because before Dean had a chance to say another word he was being rammed forcefully against the wall with Cas’ lips and tongue invading his mouth. As quickly as it had begun, the kiss was over and Cas was several steps away with a sheepish look on his face. He looked so damn adorable Dean couldn’t resist the urge to laugh.

“Sorry,” Castiel mumbled, not looking the slightest bit apologetic, and instead looking positively pleased with himself. Dean chuckled to himself.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “I’ll, er, run a bath. Get rid of the chlorine smell.” He turned to head towards the bathroom but stopped midstride and spun back around to face Cas. “You could, y’know, join me…if you want.”

Castiel smiled, it wasn’t often that Dean got embarrassed. He nodded curtly and Dean headed towards the bathroom, a silent acknowledgement that Cas would need a few moments alone. It was a big step for them, especially as Cas was generally put off by any form of nakedness. Then again, he’d already spent the last hour or so about as naked as he could be, with Dean no less. All he had to do was remove his last vestiges of dignity and suck it up. He knew that Dean respected him, so he wasn’t worried about him getting the wrong idea or anything – besides, who knows! He’d had more than enough alcohol in him to render his inhibitions relatively thrown out of the window. What he was more frightened about was being completely and utterly exposed, it almost made him not want to go ahead with it. Almost.

He was positive that Dean would understand if he did choose to give up, but he’d be disappointed and so would Cas. They’d had their setbacks, but Castiel was stronger now. Everything he’d faced and beaten whether it be abusive sort-of-father-in-laws or simply the difficulties of mastering eye contact were to be regarded as successes. He was the only person stopping him from doing anything, and he had to get past that sooner or later, and why not make it sooner? 

His mind firmly made up, he waited until the water stopped running and spent a few minutes pacing after that to collect himself – if he went in there a wreck Dean would freak out and refuse to go ahead. As calmly as he ever would be, Cas peeled off his underwear, shook his wings a few times and entered the bathroom.

Dean was at the opposite end of the tub, already lying back submerged in water up to his neck with his eyes closed. Cas was thankful for that small mercy. Dean knew that he was there, he wasn’t stupid, but he also knew to take it slowly – it was a marathon and certainly not a sprint. They had to pace themselves. Dean had prepared the bath well. Surprisingly well. The aroma that filled the room was sweet and luxurious; Cas wouldn’t have been shocked if Dean had thought to sprinkle the floor with rose petals or something like that. Underneath those layers of bravado and the devil may care attitude Dean was a true romantic. He’d just never dare to admit it.

The bath was high enough to reach Cas’ waist, and he had to climb into it using the attached steps. Castiel stepped into the deep water without so much as looking at Dean, resisting the urge to wrap his wings around his body to cover himself; he sensed more than saw Dean’s eyes snap open - he could feel Dean’s gaze on his body and wanted nothing more than to run and hide somewhere now that the reality of the situation had sobered him up a little bit. He forced himself to sink down into the bubbles opposite Dean and instantly relaxed. The water felt silky against his skin and the bubbles were light and frothy; it was just a bath, it wasn’t like he had to do anything he didn’t want to. He knew Dean wouldn’t force him to do anything against his will, that wasn’t in his nature. He took a moment to remember back to the start of the year, he’d thought Dean was a horrible person and had completely hated his guts. It was funny how much things had changed in just a few short months. The real Dean was someone else entirely, he wasn't the popular dick who pulled heartless pranks and let his friends beat the crap out of people - that was all just a front. He was glad he'd gotten to truly know the geeky adorably person Dean really was.

“C’mere, Cas,” Dean said with just the slightest hint of a command in his voice. Cas obeyed and slid through the water until he was sat between Dean’s legs. Slowly, so he could stop it if he wanted to, Dean’s hands made their way onto him; tender, feather-light touches to his skin as Dean spread the cleansing bubbles all over Cas’ arms and shoulders in soothing little circles. until they travelled below the waterline to caress the plains of his chest. Castiel stifled a gasp and his wings twitched slightly when Dean’s fingers gently pinched at his nipples. He leaned close to Cas and lightly sucked at the base of his neck by his jugular. He didn’t resist when Dean’s hands slithered down to his hips and pulled him up onto his lap and began working on his exposed nipples, which were now above the waterline, again, this time with his mouth while his hands travelled down to forcefully grab his ass. A sound that he couldn’t identify – and one he would deny later if ever asked about it – escaped Cas’ throat, it was a noise caught somewhere between fear and pleasure. Neither emotion was more potent in his mind, both sharing an equal footing. Part of him wanted to bolt, or tell Dean to stop, but the rest of him was screaming not to – it felt good, so why deny himself the experience? He buried the threatening anxiety deep down inside of him and told his brain to concentrate on the feeling of Dean’s lips on his sensitive skin. He dug his nails into Dean’s bicep and pressed his forehead to Dean’s hair, involuntarily breathing in the rich chlorine smell which caused him to cough a few times.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asked, moving his lips up to place tender kisses on Castiel’s clavicle, his voice low and husky. He knew that Dean wasn’t referring to the coughing fit, but was asking for permission to continue. He could turn back now if he wanted to, only he wasn't exactly prepared to do that. So Cas nodded, not trusting his voice at all, and tangled a hand into Dean’s hair, tugging on it ever so slightly, but enough that it would hurt a little. Dean grunted and involuntarily thrust his hips upwards, Cas could feel the physical response underneath the water and made a mental note for the future that Dean _really_ liked having his hair pulled. He could make several assumptions based on that, and it could be useful for future reference.

Dean’s hands found their way into Cas’ wings and twisted deep into the feathers. Castiel squealed and keened forward, his half-hard cock pressed against Dean’s stomach. A part of his mind told him to be ashamed of his unintentional reaction to the stimulation, but he ignored it, everything Dean was doing felt too good for him to care about it too much.

Dean continued to roughly massage Castiel’s wings while tenderly kissing, licking and biting the parts of his skin that remained above the water until the pleasure got the better of both of them and they were both beginning to ache for a release. Dean was slowly gyrating his hips with his cock pressed against Cas’ thigh, and Cas just let tiny moans slip between his lips every now and then, unsure of what else to do and unable to stop them.

“Think we’re clean yet?” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear, teasing the lobe between his teeth. God, how did that boy make everything sound so seductive? He could probably recite an encyclopaedia and successfully turn on half of the population. Castiel just nodded and slid off of Dean’s lap before allowing himself to be assisted out of the water and dried off. Dean dragged the towel gently over Cas' skin, accompanying it with tender little kisses every so often. He knelt in front of Cas and began with his feet and ankles, carefully drying them off and moving slowly up towards each of his thighs. He didn’t miss Castiel’s little groan – nor the way his cock twitched – when he kissed the inside of his thigh and slipped a finger underneath to lightly trace over his perineum. Nor did he miss the way Cas' arms closed around himself slightly, but he chose to ignore it - he took the way the boy's wings stayed proud and open as a good sign. He snaked his tongue out to lap up the little bead of precome from the slit and swirl his tongue over the head of Castiel's cock. Cas’ wings beat against the air excitedly and Dean smiled slyly to himself, he loved how easy the wings made it so easy to read Cas; they made him all but an open book, and Dean loved to know how he was affecting him. He imagined Cas probably wouldn’t last much longer, he was a virgin after all, and he was probably closer to the edge than he was letting on, but Dean could recognise the signs.

He glanced up at Castiel through his lashes, making his eyes as wide and sinful as he could – that always drove them crazy – to see that the boy was staring down at him with his bottom lip between his teeth. He let his arms drop from around himself and twisted his hand into Dean’s hair and gasped, his wings beating up a tornado around them, when Dean’s mouth wrapped around his cock and sunk down right to the base. Dean had gotten pretty good at this; he’d done his fair share of cocksucking and found there was a general art to it. He hollowed out his cheeks and ever so slightly bobbed his head up and down, one hand massaging Cas’ balls, and the other resting gingerly on his thigh. Castiel buried both of his hands into Dean’s hair for support to prevent him from falling over. His toes curled and his balls drew up closer to his body and before he could do anything to stop it he was spurting thin ropes of come down Dean’s throat in a few short bursts. Dean swallowed it without hesitation and let Cas’ cock slide from his mouth and pressed one last kiss to it before standing up.

Castiel was swaying slightly and the second Dean got to his feet the boy collapsed into his arms. Dean hauled Cas out of the bathroom and guided him down onto the bed on top of the duvet. He didn’t look quite all there and Dean suspected he was caught up in the shimmering afterglow of his orgasm, he was new to all of this and Dean didn’t expect any different from him. The kid had never even touched himself before, for crying out loud; he was bound to be a little out of it. He thought it might be a while before Cas came down from his high, and that was if he didn’t fall asleep before then which was highly likely, so he headed back towards the bathroom to tend to his aching hard-on. He might have been resentful if it was anyone else, but seeing Cas riding his high all because of him was all he needed. That image alone made his cock twitch with excitement.

“Dean, stay,” Cas said in a low voice, now sitting up on the mattress. Dean was about to protest and maybe point out his painfully hard cock – seriously, he was pretty sure he could feel it pulsating – until he saw the slight glint of _something_ in Castiel’s eyes, something he hadn’t seen in Cas before, but still something that he definitely recognised and wanted to see more of.

He found it impossible to disobey and so he returned to the bed and climbed into Castiel’s waiting lap. Cas’ mouth came crashing down onto his – which he was sure still vaguely tasted of come – for the second time that evening, only this time it was far harsher and more demanding. Maybe Cas was still a little drunk. Whatever side of Castiel had come out tonight, he decided he liked it. 

“You might want to take care of that,” said Castiel in a sultry voice Dean had no idea he was capable of. Cas wasn’t quite sure where all this was coming from himself but he decided to go with it having already seen Dean's reactions. He’d probably be ashamed of it later but right now he couldn’t stop himself. Somewhere between the alcohol and the intense things Dean had made him feel, all of his inhibitions had been thrown out of the window, for now at least. He knew it would only come crashing down on him later, but there was no need to worry about that now; Dean still hadn't come yet, and one of the few things he knew about sex was that it was better if both participants reached orgasm.

Dean’s hands obediently moved down to his cock and he took it in his hand and began stroking it, long an slow, and wrapped his free hand around Castiel’s neck, breathing in his scent. When Castiel sank his teeth – seriously, _whoa_ , he was on a roll tonight – into Dean’s neck he began pumping his hand faster and faster, and rocking his hips against Cas' stomach to get a little more friction. Castiel's hands gripped his shoulders tight and pushed him roughly down on the bed, Dean's legs still wrapped around his waist, his wings flaring like an exotic bird trying to make itself look bigger and scarier. Castiel leaned down to bite at the sensitive skin underneath Dean's ear and was struck with an idea. He kept his breath soft and low, and leaned as close to Dean's ear and snaked his tongue out to trace the supple skin. Then, as softly as he could, he whispered a single word: "Come."

He was rewarded half a second later by Dean's suppressed scream as he came all over his own chest, not a drop of it touching Castiel. He smiled to himself, he'd thought that might work. He was doing excellently, so, intent on keeping his winning streak up he bent down to lick the white liquid off of Dean's chest. He saw it as returning the favour, so to speak. It didn't taste very nice, but it was _Dean_ , so he continued lapping it up until Dean's chest was completely clean. Dean would have stopped him, but he'd taken the liberty of getting himself tested a couple of weeks ago, he didn't want to risk passing anything onto Cas, even if it was unlikely. Luckily, he'd had no need to worry, he knew he was responsible when it came to that sort of stuff but he could think of a few times when he and whoever his partner was that week hadn't used protection, and was glad when the doctor had called him the next day to inform him that he was completely clean. When Castiel sat up straight Dean couldn't bring himself to move - the sight in front of him was just too beautiful. Castiel was beautiful, that little white drop that disappeared when Cas licked his lips was beautiful. Everything about him was enough to render him speechless. Castiel’s wings began to relax as he slid off Dean and crawled backwards to the other corner of the bed, looking more than a little ashamed of himself, every hint of the driven animal Dean had seen just moments ago completely erased.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean sighed contentedly, struggling to keep his eyes open. He could sleep later. He had to make sure Cas was okay, he didn’t want to risk the boy regretting anything. He forced himself, with great effort, into a sitting position and shuffled over so that he was by Cas’ side. He didn’t put an arm around him or offer him any other form of comfort, but instead just sat by his side so that only their arms were touching. He’d learnt early on that in times like this it was better to let Cas initiate contact and let him feel in control of how he felt. “Do you want to sleep?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes for a moment in heavy concentration before nodding thoughtfully. He didn’t move an inch, and stared forward with blank, unseeing eyes.

“Do you want me to sleep with you?” Castiel nodded again, blushing and leaning slightly into Dean’s side, finally seeming a bit more responsive. Dean smiled, it seemed peculiar that Cas would blush at that but showed no hint of shame while he was licking come off of Dean’s chest. But then again when had he ever pretended to understand the complexity of Castiel's mind? Dean reached over to dim the lights before sliding under the quilt covers and holding them up in a silent invitation for Cas to join him. He hesitated for a moment before complying. He slept on his front, partially lying on top of Dean with his head buried in the crook of his neck and his ear pressed against his heart. Within moments, Castiel was asleep.

* * *

“If you girls don’t quiet down I’m gonna end up doing something I’ll regret,” Ellen mumbled, her face pressed firmly into the feather pillow. Why, oh why, couldn’t she sleep in longer? It must have been fun to have the energy of a teenager. However, it did seem that that was kind of a hit and miss and most of the time the roles would be reversed – it would be her trying to drag Jo out of bed and seven o’clock in the morning. She’d never had much of a problem with waking up before, but it was Christmas, and if that wasn’t an excuse for a lie in she didn’t know what was.

Rachel, Jo and Anna had all gathered in this room – why couldn’t they have found somewhere else to plot world domination or whatever it was girls talked about these days? – and were chattering about something Ellen honestly couldn’t care less about. She was glad that Jo was getting on with Cas’ sisters though, they all seemed like really nice people considering what they’d all been through, and shockingly well adjusted. Well, on face value at the very least.

“Ellen, you gotta get up, everyone will be here soon,” said Bobby from the en suite bathroom. She mentally kicked herself for inviting everyone to open presents in her – their – room. They’d all already deposited their presents here yesterday, and had them safely locked away in the closet, mainly so Jo wouldn’t try to sneak a peek which she'd been known to do in the past.

“Fine. Jo go and wake the boys up and I’ll get showered,” she murmured, hating herself for giving in.

Jo stood up and grabbed the key for the adjoining door, thinking of some horrific way to wake up Dean and Cas. By the time the three girls had entered the room and shut the door, quietly, behind them she’d decided on the good old fashioned jump-on-the-bed-and-scream-a-bit technique. Hopefully that would give them enough of a shock.

“Aw,” Rachel cooed. She’d had her doubts about Dean as a person, especially having heard a number of things about him from Anna, but she couldn’t help but find them curled up in bed together adorable as hell. She was a sucker for that kind of gooey crap. Jo nodded at her new found friends and the three of them leaped into the air and landed on the bed simultaneously with a high pitched, blood curdling wail. A moment later they were met with two equally high pitched screams as Dean and Cas startled awake and scrambled out from behind the covers.

“Oh, God!” Jo yelled, not quite sure where to look.

“Avert your eyes, sister dear!” Anna shouted dramatically, climbing onto Rachel’s back and covering her older sister's eyes with her hands and flapping her maroon wings rapidly. Dean wasted no time in covering himself and Cas with the duvet while Cas scrambled to hide behind his larger body. Before the situation had had much time to process, the girls fell down onto the bed in fits of laughter that were not reciprocated by the two boys.

“That was so not funny,” Dean growled, trying not to think too much about how Cas hands were slowly wrapping around his waist from behind or the fact that he was placing tiny kisses against the back of his neck whilst their company was distracted. Damn, he could get used to this.

“Oh, but it was,” Jo said, sitting up straight to stare at Dean while taunt after possible taunt ran through her mind. She wasn’t an idiot, people didn’t tend to just sleep naked together for the sake of it in her experience. Dean pulled a face and kicked her in the shin from underneath the blanket.

“I’m not going to ask,” Anna said, averting her eyes and pretending to be interested in the pattern on the ceiling.

“I’m very tempted to but I think it might be passing some sort of boundary,” Rachel muttered, nervously eyeing the clothes which had been discarded on the floor. Seeing her little brother naked in bed with his boyfriend had never really been on her list of things she wanted to see before she was twenty five - or at all really for that matter. That didn’t mean she wasn’t curious, but she didn’t have the closest relationship with Cas – she figured Anna would end up getting all the details later and passing them onto her.

“I think we should warn the maid before she changes the sheets…” Jo stage whispered into Anna’s ear, earning another kick from Dean.

“I would recommend the three of you leave now,” Castiel mumbled, shyly looking up at his sisters and Jo before burying his head in Dean’s neck to hide his face.

“Okay,” Jo agreed, leaping off the bed. “But if you decide to go for another round, please keep it down. We’re only next door and these walls are thin…”

“Out!” Dean ordered, picking up a pillow and hurling it in Jo’s direction. Jo nimbly threw it back and disappeared out of the door along with the two Novaks before Dean had a chance to respond. “I’m going to kill her,” he promised, running a hand over his face.

“Come on,” Castiel chuckled, landing a brief kiss on Dean’s temple before jumping out of bed to pick some wing-friendly clothes out of the wardrobe. He grabbed a plaid shirt and picked up Dean’s jeans which had been left on the ground following their adventure last night and pulled them both on, not bothering with underwear or socks.

“Damn you, angel,” said Dean, shaking his head in mock disappointment. He slid his arms around Castiel’s neck, not caring one bit that he was still completely naked. His gesture was reciprocated a moment later by Cas’ arms and wings slowly wrapping around him. The wings felt weird against his bare skin, he’d felt it before since he generally slept shirtless with Castiel on top of him, but this morning it was as if every nerve ending in his skin was standing to attention, eager to feel every tiny little sensation in its purest form.

“Get dressed,” Cas suggested, pulling out of the hug and landing a light smack on Dean's ass. If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw Dean blush slightly. He shook his head and sighed, Dean brought something out in him that he’d never even dreamed he’d be able to experience. When he was around Dean he felt carefree and a little bit lightheaded, like nothing on earth could go wrong – most of the time at least.

He knew Dean couldn’t care less about privacy, but still Cas entered the bathroom – he needed to brush his teeth anyway. When he entered the room he pulled the plug out of the bath tub - they’d never bothered to empty it last night - and grabbed his toothbrush from the side of the sink. Dean joined him a moment later, fully dressed now but still looking slightly out of it and ten minutes later (it would have been sooner but they both decided they quite liked the taste of each other’s mouths) they joined the rest of their party in the adjacent room.

“Get in, ya idjits, everyone’s waitin’ for ya,” Bobby chided when they opened the adjoining door. They sat down in the open space that had apparently been saved for them on the floor between Gabriel and Jo, but it was a bit of a squeeze mainly because of the abundance of wings in the room. Well, that and the fact the Luci had required a space of at least a foot between her and the nearest person on either side (not excluding Nick) so that Satan wouldn’t get grumpy – he didn’t like large crowds, poor little demon dog.

The gift giving began immediately and the sound of laughs and excitement quickly filled the room as wrapped presents of all shapes and sizes were passed around. Luci was delighted with her newest collection of expensive dog toys for Satan and Dean squealed like a girl and practically jumped into Castiel’s lap when he was handed the original collection of Star Trek on VHS. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he sang, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach between the words. “You’re my favourite person, oh my God.”

“I thought I was your favourite person,” Sam said from across the circle, folding his arms across his chest and raising his eyebrows.

“You’re a close second, kiddo,” he joked. He could have been honest and told him that he valued both him and Castiel equally – like he’d ever believe that – but it was much easier, and much more fun to torment the kid a little bit.

“Cas!” Gabe said as if a sudden realisation had dawned on him, and he picked up the badly wrapped shoe box and passed it over to him, a sly grin painted on his face. Castiel really didn’t want to open it right now. He dreaded to think what was in there. He took a deep breath and tore away the paper and lifted the lid. The room erupted into laughter and his mouth dropped open in horror – he’d have liked to say it was surprise, but he really couldn’t expect any less from Gabriel and although he was horrified, he definitely wasn't shocked one bit. The shoebox was filled to the brim with condoms of different variations. He bit his lips and blushed fiercely, he felt like everyone was laughing at him as though they knew something. Of course, Anna, Jo and Rachel had made their own assumptions about last night but he’d never thought they would tell everyone, especially not on Christmas day. 

“Gabe, you little bitch!” Anna exclaimed, punching him in the arm. “You trying to steal my thunder? My present’s way better.”

“It’s on, Anna-Banana,” Gabe challenged. She smirked at him and pulled out two gifts wrapped in shiny metallic paper and handed them to Castiel. He was dreading this even more than he’d dreaded Gabriel’s, it could only get worse from here. One of the presents was obviously a bottle of something, it looked like it could be shampoo but he knew better than that. The other box was small and square; he had absolutely no idea what was inside of it.

He decided to rip open the bottle first, he had an inkling as to what that might be and thought it was best to get it over with. Sure enough he found that it was a bottle of strawberry scented lubricant, what a surprise. He sent Anna an irritated look until the ripple of laughter died down and he picked up the second box. When he saw what was inside his eyes widened in repulsion and the box slipped out from between his fingers. Everyone laughed yet again and Ellen leaned over to cover Sam’s young and innocent eyes. Inside the box were three butt plugs of varying sizes, and a little remote to go with them. Cas shook his head and pressed the heel of his hands into his eye sockets.

He was about to start panicking – he felt like they knew about last night, and he was having enough trouble jumping between shame and excitement regarding those memories as it was – when Dean cuddled him close to his chest and patted his feathers in a calming gesture. Rational thinking dawned on him once again, Anna must have gotten these when they went to the mall – she’d gone into Victoria’s Secret and met him and Jo back at the car about an hour later looking incredibly pleased with herself.

He calmed down, nobody knew. Everything was fine. What was private could stay private.

“Do you mind if I give you my present now?” Dean whispered. He needn’t have bothered, everyone was silent now and could hear every syllable he spoke. Dean looked sheepish when he picked up his own little box, wrapped in the same metallic paper as Anna’s present. God, he hoped it wasn’t a cock ring or anything. Slightly reluctant, he peeled off the paper and lifted the lid of the box. He stared at its contents. He stifled a gasp and picked up the tiny object. 

“Er, I know it’s a bit…” Dean cleared his throat, he was going to get through this one way or another. “R-Remember that necklace you told me about? The one that belonged to your mother? Well, in freshman year after I…melted it down…I made it into something else. It was just a ring but I figured I could make it something better so I, um, made that.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He picked up the cord, the same stuff that Dean's own necklace was made of, and let it run between his fingers, examining the ornament that hung from it. The metal from the original necklace couldn’t have possibly made a chain to go with it, but it could easily have formed the single silver wing that hung off of it. It was shiny and beautiful and as good as new. 

Dean stared at the carpet. Cas had yet to say anything, he was just examining the thing with a completely emotionless face. He’d known this was risky, and the possibility that Cas would hate it or find it insensitive was becoming all too apparent now. He realised now, too late, that handing him the remnants of his mother’s necklace moulded into something new did nothing but remind him of bad things: his mother’s death, how he’d never known her, the reason he’d hated Dean for over two years before they finally got to know each other. It didn’t matter that he’d worked hard on it – the wing's shape pattern had been difficult to accomplish – or that his intentions had been nothing but good, because underneath all of that it was downright hurtful. He mentally kicked himself. Castiel hated it, he loathed it and probably resented Dean a bit too for opening this can of warms.

“If you don’t like it, er, I can get you something else,” he said in a low voice, concentrating hard on keeping the slight tremor out of it. He reviled himself, he was so fucking stupid. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea? All he ever did was mess things up, but he’d sworn he’d never ruin his relationship with Castiel, yet here he was having done just that. Before he had time to come up with some pathetic excuse he’d been tackled to the ground. He made no move to resist, he deserved to have the crap beaten out of him. Happiness never lasted long, he just prayed that maybe Cas could forgive him for being a heartless bastard. It took him a moment for him to realise that no blows were coming. Castiel was lying half on top of him with the chain clutched in his fist, held close to his heart and his head buried in Dean’s neck, his free hand gripping tightly to Dean’s shirt.

“Th-Thank you,” Castiel stammered, his voice sounding emotional and unsteady. He’d never considered himself a sentimental person, but his mother’s necklace had been the only exception. It had also been proof to his fourteen year old self that sentiment just got you hurt. He’d thought he didn’t have a chance to see it again – he still resented Dean for it sometimes, though he’d never admit it. Now he didn’t have to. Dean had made it right. It was more special than it was the first time round because now it was part of both his mother and Dean. He couldn’t have wished for anything more.

When Dean realised he wasn’t being attacked but, instead, hugged, he instantly wrapped his arms around Cas, holding him lose to his body and whispering nothing in particular into his ear. It took a few moments for them to get themselves together, having completely forgotten that they had company, and they dragged themselves back into a sitting position.

Dean gently pried the chain and ornament out of Castiel’s hands so he could clip it around the boy’s neck and press an affectionate kiss against the parts of his shoulder he could access without getting a mouthful of feathers. When he glanced around the room, he saw glistening tears in a few pairs of eyes, particularly the Novaks – even Michael looked vaguely moved by the scene. Dean smiled into Castiel’s shoulder blade, maybe he wasn’t such a fuck up after all.

* * *

Dinner was quite the affair, they all gathered around a single overlarge table and were served by several waiters who looked like they’d much rather be anywhere else than here. Nobody could blame them really. The group had had some time before dinner where they’d engaged in their own conversations and told their usual anecdotes that everyone had heard before, and it was then that Dean and Castiel had chosen to slip out into their room. Dean had joked that Castiel should wear his new butt plug during dinner - _just for fun_ \- but that had clearly gone horribly array since Dean was now the one sat squirming at the table whenever Castiel applied that little bit of pressure to the remote in his pocket. He should have known that beneath his mask Cas was a kinky son of a bitch. He could have sworn the boy just liked to watch him suffer – it didn’t seem like he found it particularly arousing, just amusing. He’d watched for a short amount of time while Dean, ahem, prepared himself but had had to make an excuse to avert his eyes or leave the room before too long. Dean didn't mind, either way progress was progress.

The food was exquisite – the turkey was cooked to perfection, the potatoes were crisp and the vegetables were crunchy; it was obvious the chefs had a little more finesse than the waiting staff. They ate and talked for hours and after desert, Nick raised his flute of champagne into the air and tapped it a few times with his spoon to call a toast.

“First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for such a wonderful day–” Dean made a slight squealing noise and glared at Castiel, who was trying to suppress a giggle. Now was really not the time “–I’ve never really got to spend much time with Luci’s family, and you’re all fantastic people. And to the extended family–” he raised his glass towards Bobby and Ellen who sat at the other end of the table with Jo and Sam “–I hope to see you all sometime soon. Maybe even…at a wedding.” There was a moment of absolute stillness and silence, an air of confusion surrounding everyone as they exchanged questioning glances. A moment of confusion later, Nick placed his flute down on the table and pulled a tiny black velvet box out of his back pocket and slid off of his chair and down onto one knee beside Luci.

“Luci Novak…you might be an arrogant, pigheaded bitch,” he said affectionately, smiling up at her with love in his eyes.

“Where are you going with this?” Luci asked incredulously, raising her elegant eyebrow. Nick chuckled.

“But, more importantly, you’re also intelligent and beautiful and…it would be an honour to spend the rest of my life with you. Luci, will you be my wife? Please?”

“You dumbass,” she laughed, leaning down to grab his face in her hands and kiss him deeply. When she pulled away he looked more than a little dizzy and was smiling like a child on, well, on Christmas morning. “About time, don't you think?”

She dragged him back up onto his chair and he pulled the ring – a white gold band with a massive diamond in the centre, as if Luci would have it any other way – out of its velvet home and gently pushed it into place on his girlfriend's - nay, fiancée's - finger. The cheers and applause that filled their corner of the hotel's restaurant earned a few joyful stares from the other diners, and a couple of them even joined with their celebrations before returning to their meals.

“I hope you’re prepared for this,” Michael said to Nick seriously once the applause had died down. “If you think she’s bad now…well…” he trailed off, shooting his brother-in-law-to-be a knowing look. The poor man had no clue what he was getting himself into, Michael daren’t even think about what his dearest sister would be like during the planning of a wedding. Nick suddenly looked terrified. Dean yelped and elbowed Cas in the ribs, glaring at him, the little sadist, and swearing to get that remote off of him before anybody realised what he was doing if they hadn't already. He’d never be able to live it down. Cas just chuckled to himself, blushing slightly. Dean had to restrain from rolling his eyes, how could Castiel be embarrassed when it was Dean who was suffering? Well, Dean was sure he was blushing far redder than Castiel was, but still, the sentiment remained the same. He breathed a sigh of relief when Cas’ hand slipped out of his pocket – as long as he didn’t move too much, Dean should be able to sneak off somewhere and get the damn thing out of him before his raging boner got too out of control. 

He managed to escape the party whilst everyone transferred themselves from the restaurant to the hotel’s common room and headed towards the bathroom. He stepped inside a cubicle and yanked his jeans down so he could pull the wretched thing out of his ass, trying to convince himself that the loss of pressure was a welcome relief. He’d have to find a way to get back at Anna for buying it, or maybe get revenge on Cas for making dinner particularly difficult for him. He suspected the latter option could be a lot more fun, and smirked to himself. He pulled his jeans back up and shoved the butt plug into his pocket, Castiel wouldn’t mind that he’d taken it out – in fact, he’d probably be a bit relieved that he didn't have to worry about it anymore.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said when he opened the cubicle door – the boy was sitting on the bathroom counter between the wall and a sink, dangling his legs over the edge. Dean stopped in his tracks and leaned against the cubicle’s doorway, taking a moment to sweep his eyes across Castiel's form.

“Hey,” Dean retorted, smiling fondly. Castiel’s skin looked deathly pale in the bright light, except for the blush that constantly painted his cheeks. The corner of Castiel's lips turned up in a half smile. Dean swallowed a little nervously - he'd seen that smile before, it rarely found its way onto his lips, but when it did, it was deadly . “I…uhh-”

Castiel shook his head to dismiss Dean’s excuse, he was getting a little bored of the whole make-Dean-squirm-in-public thing, and he felt a little bit chagrined now, but he was used to that constant feeling of guilt that came from doing things that ordinary people wouldn’t think twice about. Not that he knew a great deal about _ordinary people_. It was exhilarating at first, but after a while Cas had started to become uncomfortable with the whole affair - it didn't matter too much anyway, he would prefer to save those sorts of things for when he and Dean were alone. Dean stepped close to him, so that he was standing between Castiel’s legs and gently ran his fingers through the small curl of hair behind his ear and lightly rested his other hand on his knee. It took all his will power not to squeal - in a very manly way - again when Cas’ head leaned into his palm ever so slightly. Cas' eyes flickered shut and Dean felt a jolt of electricity run through his veins when Cas' hands found their way to his waist in order to pull him even closer, lithe legs trapping Dean within the embrace. Unable to stop himself, Dean leaned slowly leaned forward to press his lips against the baby soft curve of Castiel's throat, breathing in the rich scent of cinnamon and soap. He placed one kiss, and then another, steadily moving his way towards Cas' jawline, covering every inch of skin he could reach in tender kisses. 

“Am I interrupting something?” a voice from the doorway said. Dean's head snapped up, and Cas' eyes pried themselves open with what appeared to be a great deal of effort, but aside from that neither of them made any move to disentangle themselves from one another. It was Gabriel, looking a little bit embarrassed at having walked in on something clearly private. But then again he hadn't really expected any intimate shows of affection when entering an unlocked public bathroom. They should at least have thought to lock the main door first if they were intending on doing anything less than innocent. Both boys shook their heads without saying a word, and Castiel stared at the tap beside him, trying to avoid Gabriel’s penetrating gaze. “Mind if I talk to Cas for a sec?” Dean took the hint and stepped out of the web of Castiel's limbs, disappearing out of the doorway to head back to the rest of the group without the threat of the butt plug in his ass to make things awkward.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” Cas asked, still staring intently at the faucet like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. 

“I was just wondering when exactly you were planning on telling me that you’re gay?” he joked with a wide smirk on his face. Castiel smiled slightly, recognising Gabriel's tension-breaking habit of opening with a joke.

“If you haven’t figured it out by now then I am beginning to question your intelligence,” he replied flatly. A moment later he let out a sigh and continued in a quiet voice, sounding far more sincere. “I didn’t even know myself. I always assumed I was asexual whenever I did question it.”

Gabe took a moment to think, considering Castiel’s words and trying to remember the correct definition of asexuality so he wouldn’t confuse himself and get one of those judgemental looks from his little brother that he so often received when reciting incorrect information. “So…you’d never, like, had a crush on anyone before?”

“Asexuality is not so much a romantic orientation as a sexual one, I had simply never had the desire to engage in any form of sexual activity.” It seemed Gabriel’s efforts at thoughtfulness had been wasted. “But now that you mention it, no. I had never felt any form of romantic attraction before either.”

Gabriel chuckled to himself and hopped up on the counter on the other side of Castiel’s sink, between that and another one. Out of everyone Cas could have chosen to date, he’d chosen Dean. Gabe slowly shook his head, he didn’t have a problem with him, in fact he rather liked Dean but he just couldn’t help but think…what were the chances?

“Nice trick with the butt plug, by the way,” Gabriel commented, sounding completely at ease as if he would gladly spend all day talking about sex toys. Knowing Gabe that probably wasn't too far from the truth.

“You noticed.” Castiel frowned. He hadn't missed a few of the confused looks that had been sent his and Dean's way during dinner, but he hadn't thought anyone would easily make the connection. Maybe they'd been more obvious than they'd thought.

“Yeah,” Gabe laughed. “What with Dean’s little yelps it was hard not to. Everyone caught on pretty quick. Except Sam, he just seemed genuinely concerned.”

“I doubt we will be doing that again, although it _was_ amusing.” Castiel smiled. “However, I don’t think this is what you came to me to talk about.”

Gabriel held up his hands in admission. “You got me. It was partially related, though. If you and Dean plan on, y’know, doing it…just make sure you’re safe okay? I don’t mean to be blunt, but he’s been around the block a few times and God knows what he might have caught along the way.”

“Dean assures me that he is perfectly healthy, he said he's been tested recently. Is that all?” Castiel said, pretending he didn't feel the tell-tale burn of a blush forming on his cheeks.

“I think so, but believe me Cas. I will be talking to Dean about this, too,” Gabriel said, sterner than Cas usually heard him, hopping off of the counter and gesturing that Castiel follow him.

“Will that really be necessary?” Cas asked as he moved to follow his older brother. He figured it was customary for that kind of conversation to take place, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. Gabriel could be lethal if he wanted to, it was just that most of the time he didn’t really feel it was warranted. Castiel just hoped that Dean would be prepared and able to give Gabe the answers he needed to reassure him.

“It’s about time I got to fulfil my role as the overprotective big brother, don’t you think?” Gabriel smiled, clapping him on the shoulder when they approached the seating area and flopping down into the sofa beside Anna. Dean was in the arm chair closest to the fire, deep in conversation with Jo who was sat on the stool to his right. Not wanting to disturb, he sat on the arm of the chair – it wasn’t like there was anywhere else he could sit, Bobby had already had to pull up a few extra chairs and a few people were sat on the floor. Their little corner of the common room was small, cosy, and a little bit cramped.

“Hey, angel,” Dean chimed, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist and dragging him sideways down into his lap. Cas, not expecting the contact, shrieked and beat his wings, managing to hit Dean in the face on his way down. Wings made positions like this difficult, but they were easy enough to maintain after they got it right.

“Sorry,” Cas murmured, adjusting his positions so that his wings were out of the way and he could snuggle closer into Dean’s chest, revelling in the warmth. He didn’t even care that everyone could see him, and it didn’t particularly look like they cared either. He was sure that they'd come to terms with their public displays of affection reasonably quickly. Cas himself was beginning to enjoy it more and more.

“S’okay,” said Dean, pressing his face into Castiel’s hair. It smelt a little like chlorine, clearly their bath last night hadn't done a great deal of actual cleansing. It _had_ been fun though, and he chuckled to himself. A part of him expected Cas to be awkward and distant today, as he'd experienced with many ex-lovers before, but if anything he was even more affectionate and had spent the majority of the day as close to Dean as he could manage. It made a tiny part of his ego cringe to admit it, but Dean knew that he was lucky that Cas was his, and he didn’t want that to change. Just having Cas close to him in this way made his heart speed up in a way he’d never experienced before; it was more than lust and sex, it was something else entirely. It was new and exciting, but it was also terrifying.

It wasn’t long before Castiel drifted off to sleep, light snores filling the immediate area, and Dean pulled his sleeping form even closer to his body, adoring the way the heat radiated off of Castiel’s body and into his own. He placed a kiss on Cas’ forehead, lingering there just a moment longer than was necessary. Castiel was his, and he was Castiel’s. He hoped he wouldn’t screw it up any time soon, because right now he couldn’t imagine ever being away from his angel and he hoped he’d never have to be.


	15. Epilogue

Castiel stared at his reflection in the mirror and fiddled with the silver wing that hung from the black string around his neck. It hadn’t left its place there in close to a year and a half now, and he was certain that was where it would stay for the rest of his life, if luck was on his side. It was a part of his mother, and a part of Dean - that's what made it so special. He couldn’t imagine life without Dean now, but he’d have to come to terms with that notion sooner rather than later. If all went to plan, then Dean would be heading off to Texas to study engineering and Cas would be going to Illinois for literature in the autumn, a day long bus journey separating them. He shook that thought out of his head, he could think about it another day. He had other things to think about right now.

He cleared his throat and picked up the can of shaving cream which sat on the shelf beneath the bathroom mirror and squirted the contents onto his hands and spread it over the slowly forming stubble on his face, it was graduation after all and he wanted to look nice for the photos. Well, as nice as he possibly could whilst sporting those God-awful graduation robes, there was nothing that could be done to save those. They were blue and yellow, Lakeside’s school colours, and horribly garish. Whenever he looked at them, Castiel felt as if his eyes were being personally assaulted.

“Dude, hurry up, we have to get to Bobby's,” Dean called impatiently from the living room.

“Chillax,” Gabriel ordered from where he was laying on the sofa, creasing his suit trousers. He’d bought this flat himself about a year ago, for him and Cas, just in time for the summer holidays that began shortly after Castiel’s seventeenth birthday. It'd meant they could finally move out of Bobby and Ellen's and start being more self-reliant again, which was good in Gabriel's books. Cas had been a little less enthusiastic, but Dean was never too far away. He spent at least three nights a week in the flat, ditching his adoptive parents to come and join his boyfriend and his older brother for a very sugary dinner (because some things never change).

Castiel finished shaving and scampered into his bedroom to pull on his ghastly robes. It took a bit of manoeuvring, but they were arranged in such a way (at a massive additional cost) that let his wings hang free from the back of them. He let them out most days now, unless it was raining or snowing purely because they were a pain to clean afterwards, and although he still got his fair share of snide looks every now and then, things weren't too bad. 

Dean said his wings looked beautiful in the summer sun, the blues and greens in the plumes shimmering in the light with every twist and turn that Castiel made. Cas disagreed, but he cherished the way Dean stared at him with a mixture of adoration and awe whenever he got his wings out, which was most of the time now. That didn’t mean that people were any kinder, but it did mean that Castiel’s skin was thicker. Why should he let hateful prying eyes bother him when Dean still thought he was beautiful?

“You look stunning, my dearest angel,” Dean chimed with a theatrical glint in his eye when Cas stepped out into the living room, taking his hand in his and bowing down to press his lips to it. The second Dean had righted himself he found himself with an armful of boyfriend as Castiel ploughed into him and started peppering his face with sloppy wet kisses, completely wooed by Dean's dramatics.

“Alright, alright,” Gabriel sighed, pushing himself up from the sofa with exaggerated effort. “Pack it in, you two, we’re leaving.”

* * *

Jo was bouncing with unbridled excitement when the Impala pulled up outside the house - finally! She sprinted down the steps and hauled Dean into a death-grip before he’d even had a chance to shut the driver's side door behind him. When Cas had made his way round the vehicle, hoping to get as far away from Jo as possible and escape onto the porch or behind Bobby's truck, he was yanked into the embrace too, and he couldn’t help feeling that he was under attack. His wings flapped with annoyance and he distinctly heard Gabriel laughing behind him.

“Jeez, Jo, who died?” Dean mocked, disentangling himself from her arms and chuckling when she refused to let go of Cas and pulled him closer to her, causing a shocked little squeak to escape from his lips. He sent Dean a pleading look but he just smiled wickedly in response, smirking at Cas' irritation. Castiel sighed, giving up, and wrapped his wings around Jo, hoping that if he played along it would be over more quickly.

“I’m just gonna miss you guys!” she said after a moment, finally stepping away from Cas and shooting him an apologetic look, which he didn't return. 

“We don’t leave until the fall,” Dean promised, “we have the whole summer left to enjoy.”

Jo managed to compose herself after a few more words of comfort from Dean and Cas, and a few minutes later Sam (whose first move was to attack Gabriel in a gigantic bear hug, he was taller than him now), Bobby, Ellen and Jess (who Sam had insisted they bring along to stop him from getting bored during the ceremony) filed out of the house and scrambled into the truck. Bobby and Ellen got into the front, but everyone else climbed into the tray at the back. There was an unofficial competition between the students to see who could arrive at the school in the most creative way - they had no intention of winning, and they knew full well that they wouldn't considering AJ Sawyer and Kara James (who were now dating) were planning on turning up in an ice cream truck.

There wasn’t so much as a breeze in the air, in fact the only wind around was caused by the movement of the truck which wasn’t moving very fast at all. They got numerous waves, shouts and honks from passing cars and pedestrians, who were seemingly wishing Dean, Jo and Cas a happy graduation. All of them, even those who were just along for the ride, joined in with returning the calls until they began to approach the school building.

“Where’s your family, Cas?” Sam asked, refusing to let go of Jess’ hand for even a second, when they pulled up into the car park. Sometimes Castiel was taken aback by how much Sam had grown in the past year and a half. He’d only turned fourteen a couple of months ago and was very tall and lanky, already of an equal height with Dean who was four years his senior, but his hair was still the same disorderly mop it’d been when he was younger.

“They’re supposed to be meeting us here,” Castiel retorted, craning his head to get a better look around before he hopped inelegantly out of the back to get a better look. Dean and everyone else followed quickly. “There’s Anna,” he remarked, upon seeing her bounding towards him with her burgundy wings flapping against the non-existent wind as if she were trying to take flight. And, boy, if that didn't bring back a memory or two.

“And Rachel and Inias,” Dean noticed as the two of them rounded the corner, each of them trying to balance a burger, fries and a drink in their arms having obviously just come from the _McDonald’s_ a block over. Rachel was having particular difficulty with it as she was also trying to hold her phone against her ear.

Anna embraced everyone in a quick hug – even Dean, much to his surprise – before shaking out her wings and combing her fingers through her hair. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and pasty white skin, and also far too hyped up on caffeine – Cas knew that she’d been up all night trying to get a report done for some project that was supposed to look really good on a resume and improve her CV so she could get a job when she left university next year.

“Luci’s gonna be late,” Rachel announced when she joined the group. “And Michael’s still a no show.”

“He could at least call,” Gabriel grumbled, sick of Michael’s flakiness regarding his family. The only person his eldest brother seen since Easter was Luci, and even then it was only a quick visit in late June so that she didn’t think he was rude for not coming to Adam’s first birthday party - which he'd skipped out on to go to some crappy meeting with a few other CEOs.

“Mr Winchester!” a high pitched voice squealed from the school’s entrance. When Dean turned to check who it was, he saw Mrs Harrow practically sprinting in their direction and seeping nervous energy in such a way that tempted him to run in the opposite direction. “Mr Novak, Miss Harvelle. Please would you come inside, we need to take a roll call.” The three of them silently cursed whoever had put that woman in charge of organising the ceremony. Even so, they bit down their sarcastic responses and followed the erratic woman into the building, waving a temporary goodbye to their respective family members.

Inside the building was boiling hot, and Dean felt like his skin was bubbling from the heat and took a moment to wonder why the school had yet to invest in air conditioning. It was nearly ninety degrees outside, but at least it was fresh. Within the walls the humidity was ridiculous and made even breathing a difficulty in itself. It would have made more sense to hold the ceremony outside, there was easily enough space and even a bandstand that could have been used as a makeshift stage for the occasion. At least then he wouldn’t feel like he was melting beneath his gown. Before he even got a chance to kiss Castiel on the cheek, he was dragged away from him and Jo by Mrs Harrow and deposited at the very end of the line. He would be the very last of the people to collect their diplomas, with only Wilson for company until then. In all fairness, he had to hand it to the guy, it was a surprise Wilson was graduating at all given his grades, but maybe his father had something to do with that.

It was another half an hour of gathering students and assigning seats to relatives and friends before the ceremony began. It started with a monotonous speech from the principal, which seemed to drone on for eternity (or at least until Dean’s muscles started to ache with the effort of standing still for so long), and it was only then that – at last – the names started to be called.

Dean hadn’t realised before how many students were in his year, but now he began to inwardly curse his father for a name so far down the alphabet and began to speculate changing his surname to Harvelle, or maybe Singer. He watched, utterly bored, as they each went up and shook the principal’s hand, collected their diplomas and stood at the other side of the hall to exchange quiet words with their friends who had already received theirs. He couldn’t help the smile that forced its way onto his face when Cas stumbled onto the stage, tripping over his own feet in the process, to accept his diploma. Castiel had expressed his worry about tripping earlier in the week, and Dean had assured him he wouldn't - it seemed Dean had lost that bet. He chuckled at Castiel's clumsiness - usually he was pretty good at controlling his limbs, but Dean found it absolutely adorable when his lack of coordination made itself apparent. He was suddenly struck with a heart-wrenching twist to his stomach when he realised come the autumn he wouldn’t be seeing Castiel every day any more, they’d be hours and hours apart, and he wouldn't even get the chance to see his blue eyes twinkle in the mornings when he woke up next to him, or groom his wings after a hard day, or even just hold his hand as they walked down the street together. He forced the smile back onto his face and applauded his boyfriend, unable to push the thoughts out of his mind. The boy’s wings trembled and a luminous blush Dean could still see from his place halfway across the room painted his cheeks when his family – now joined by a pregnant (again) Luci, Nick and baby Adam – cheered their enthusiastic support. 

When he tiptoed off the stage, careful not to fall and land on his face in front of everyone and humiliate himself further, he went to stand by Jo, who squeezed his arm and smiled at him. He chewed on his lip and scratched his wings absent-mindedly. He’d been worried about going up there but it was so much less frightening than he’d previously thought it would be, minus the embarrassment of almost falling. Dean practically bounded up the steps onto the stage when his name was called, happy to have finally been called, and dramatically bowed to the audience – earning himself a series of hoots and guffaws – once his diploma was in his hand. Half a second later, he was by Castiel’s side having leaped off the stage and straight into his angel's arms. The force of Dean's embrace knocked the wind out of him, but Cas still hugged him back tightly and wrapped his wings around them both. Dean didn’t seem prepared to let go any time soon, so he pressed his forehead into the curve of Dean’s neck and waited, focussing on the warmth of his skin and how much he was going to miss it when they were separated.

“I’m gonna miss you, Cas,” Dean mumbled, low enough so that only he could hear it over the valedictorian’s speech; a speech about friendship and achievements and all the usual crap. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, overcome with emotion at the fact that he would never set foot inside this building again. As much as he thought he despised his sort-of-friends, his teachers and even this place as a whole, he realised now that he loved it. After all, he was the King. He briefly wondered if another king - or queen - would take over now that he'd left. He'd have to get Sam to keep him informed on that one.

“We have another month yet,” Castiel reminded him, not making any move to escape Dean’s iron grip. Dean pulled away first and smiled at Cas, just in time for the valedictorian – some nerdy guy called Rob who Dean vaguely remembered from a few of his classes – to finish his speech so they could all throw their hats into the air and erupt into shouts of celebration. The following twenty minutes or were spent exchanging hugs and slaps on the back with other students before the relatives could even get close to their kin, any drama that had happened between cliques and individuals had been entirely eradicated. People graciously avoided Castiel’s wings so as not to hurt them - or out of disgust, but he didn't really care either way - and a few of them even sent the winged boy nods of approval, aware of how uncomfortable he still was with most forms of physical contact. However, Dean still had to bite his tongue when Meg approached him.

“We cool?” she asked, a slight bitterness in her tone. Her eyes never met either of theirs but it was obvious she was talking to Castiel. Dean couldn’t hold back his grin. Castiel chuckled nervously, waiting to see if she would expand. “Don’t make me say it, you dick.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows when Meg’s eyes finally met his. She’d never made a secret of how much she despised him, and was jealous of him. Cas shagging Dean on occasion meant that she didn’t get to, and by default she wasn’t nearly as high up in the social hierarchy as she could have been. None of that mattered now, though, school was officially as over as it would ever be and there was no need for unnecessary tension.

“Fine,” she growled, lowering her eyes and speaking to the floor. “Sorry I was such a bitch. Okay?” She glanced back up and questioned him relentlessly with her eyes. He didn’t look satisfied. “Sorry I beat you up that time, and that other time, sorry I put dead flies in your lunch, sorry I put chilli powder in your condoms, sorry I tried to shave off your eyebrows, sorry I stole your feather for that Satanic ritual – which didn’t work, by the way, so that one doesn’t really count.”

Dean sent her a warning look. Castiel was trying to hide his smile. Looking back now, it was all kind of funny and trivial. It had seemed like the end of the world at the time, but it was nothing more than high school drama. Even people finding out about his wings seemed petty in the grand scheme of things now that it was all over. Meg sighed theatrically and continued, trying to remember all of her offences so she could get this damn apology over with.

“Sorry I drugged you and tried to bury you alive, sorry I put dog shit in your shampoo bottles and I’m sorry I planted that bomb on you. But it wouldn’t have hurt you! Y’know, too badly… Is that everything?” she pleaded, looking embarrassed and annoyed. Dean and Cas chuckled in unison.

“You forgot time you replaced my shaving cream with rat poison,” Castiel remarked flatly.

“It wasn’t proper rat poison, it was diluted!” she argued, crossing her arms across her chest.

“And that time you put a raccoon in my bed,” Dean interjected. “How did you manage that one anyway?”

“It was really quite easy, I just—” she ran her hands through her hair and shook her head, laughing in defeat, unwilling to share her secrets. “Anything else? Are we good?”

Cas and Dean exchanged a look, and came to the same conclusion simultaneously. “We’re good.” The three of them even exchanged an awkward hug before Meg stalked off, met halfway by Kara James, to return to their families and plot the hair-brained schemes that would take up the rest of their summer.

“So you made up with Meg?” Jo inquired, suddenly appearing by their sides as they walked over to the huddling mass of family members who had, along with many others, moved outside to enjoy the fresh air as opposed to the claustrophobic heat of the hall.

“Guess so,” Dean said, putting an arm around her shoulder and snaking his other one around Castiel’s waist. 

“Congrats, little bird,” Luci said, pulling Cas out of Dean’s grasp before he'd even had time to settle into it and into her own while juggling the baby she held against her hip. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, and her shiny white wings looked like they hadn’t been groomed in a while. She was much larger than the last time Cas had seen her, partially because of her ever growing stomach – but he swore she’d put on more weight this pregnancy than her last one when she’d barely started showing until the four month mark (who'd have thought she'd already been three months pregnant when Nick had proposed to her?). A moment later the rest of the brood were surrounding them, mumbling their excited congratulations to the three of them. The baby on Luci’s hip didn’t look impressed and started to wail, not appreciating the loud noises or the abundance of people.

“Do you want me to take him?” Jess offered, eager to scoop the kid up into her arms. Luci ruffled her feathers and yawned deeply once he was out of her arms. Nick appeared a few seconds later and handed her a sandwich that he'd obviously been sent off in a rush to collect for her. 

“Thank God, I’m starving,” she said, stuffing most of it into her mouth in a single bite. She chewed for a moment and spat it out seconds later and started scraping her tongue with her fingernails, retching at the awful taste. “What the hell was that?” she demanded.

“Rav-Raviloli,” Nick stuttered, looking utterly terrified and silently cursing himself for having gotten his wife pregnant again. As if it hadn’t been bad enough the first time around.

“Why the fuck would I ask for a fucking ravioli sandwich?”

“I dunno, you’re the pregnant one!” he squealed, trying helplessly to defend himself. Luci was known for her peculiar cravings during pregnancy. He’d learnt as much last time when he’d spent hours running all over New York trying to find a particular brand of olive that would fit her desires.

“So, how old is Adam now?” Jess asked, stealing Luci’s attention before she bit Nick’s head off, which she looked like she was about to. He sent her a thankful look and Sam chuckled by her side.

“Thirteen months,” Luci replied, reaching out to tickle his cheek now that he’d stopped crying. He was the spit of her, blond hair and blue eyes, the same as Nick - it was almost impossible to tell which of them he looked more similar to. But apparently they found it offensive when someone brought up the fact that they would have done well in Germany during Hitler’s leadership and succeeded as part of the Aryan race. Sam wasn't going to make that mistake again.

“He’s one, for Christ’s sake,” Inias whispered to Bobby from behind them. Bobby disguised his laugh as a cough and Ellen kicked him in the shin. 

“Do you want to see the next one?” Luci asked, artfully digging around in her bag until she found the ultrasound photo of the baby in her belly. It was difficult to see and a little bit blurry, but Jess and Sam gasped in unison when they saw the distinct pair of little wings that could be made out on the picture.

“She’s winged!” Sam exclaimed, noting the gender of the foetus on the scan. 

“Do you have a name yet?” Jess asked.

“Izzy,” Luci announced, earning a few sighs and coos from her audience.

“How’s that instrument of yours coming along?” Rachel asked Castiel, rolling her eyes, utterly bored of Luci’s tales and only partially listening into Anna and Jo’s conversation about the best ways to get away with homicide (seriously?). For Castiel's eighteenth birthday at the start of the month, everyone had chipped in to buy him a massively expensive violin and a customised case – jet black with the words _little bird_ engraved into it in beautiful cursive script along the edge. He’d played the violin when he was younger, Luci had managed to steal one from high school for him when he was seven but his father had sold it for gambling money about a year later. He was surprised at how much he remembered.

“It’s a pain in the arse,” Gabriel said, mussing Castiel’s hair from behind. “Plays it into the early hours of the morning. Nightmare.”

“I think it’s sexy,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear, provoking another blush to form on his pale cheeks. Cas had become some kind of a prodigy, he took to music like a bird to the sky and Dean often liked to watch him play, engulfed with how confident and at ease he looked with the instrument in his hands. 

“He’d better be,” Luci said, taking her one year old son back into her arms and smiling her thanks at Jess. “It’s Italian.”

“Is that good?” Jo asked. Ellen rolled her eyes as if that was a stupid question. Luci just shrugged in response, it had been expensive at least so it’d better be a good one. None of them really knew a lot about music.

“Speaking of Italy,” Gabriel announced, smirking to himself. “The lovely Mr Fiveash has landed me a job as Gregory Palmer’s personal assistant.” He finished his announcement with a neat little curtsey and an arrogant flap of his wings.

“Gregory Palmer?” Anna asked, her mouth dropping open in shock as a few mutters from the rest of the group echoed through the air. “ _The_ Gregory Palmer?” The murmurs heightened. “The journalist?”

Gabriel nodded, appearing more than a little smug, and with good reason. Palmer was a world renowned travel journalist, and it just so happened that the person he’d been working for for the past eighteen months had connections. It proved to him without a doubt that it wasn’t about what you know, but who you know. “I’ll be spending the next two years travelling the world with him.”

“Oh, my God!” Anna screeched, almost jumping out of her skin, her wings quivering with excitement. “Put in a good word for me! I’ll need a job once I get out of uni, and if I get a good reference from him I’ll be set for life!” 

Gabriel sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing full well that Anna was stubborn enough to keep nagging him until he relented. He didn’t have the energy for that kind of battle, so he thought it best to let her have her way early on, she was going to get it anyway. “I’ll try, but no promises.” 

“Thank you, Gabe!” she screeched in excitement, closing the space between them and trapping him in an appreciative hug that made him cough and splutter on the breath caught in his throat.

Cas rolled his eyes, he liked watching his family’s conversations. He’d always been the observer, and he always would be. He knew how they ticked, to some extent, though a lot of things still confused him. Dean was there for that, he took his hand and squeezed it, a _thank you_ just for being there, for helping him when he didn’t understand things. It made everything so much easier on him. The thought of Dean not being by his side every day or in his bed every other night was so excruciating that it could have brought tears to his eyes.

It only got progressively worse as the summer began to draw to a close. Castiel’s semester started a week before Dean’s, so Dean and Bobby had come along to wish him well. Ellen was on the other side of the country in California with Jo, whose term was beginning around the same time as his. Cas been excited, partially, for school to begin but now he was solely terrified. His room in the halls was barely more than a cupboard and even with his duvet and books and photos and all the rest of his home comforts it felt lonely. He’d brought everything he could manage with him, and the rest was at Bobby and Ellen’s (where he would be staying on the weekends when he came home since his flat was being rented out while he was away and Gabriel was in Europe).

Dean squeezed his hand. “Are you gonna be alright?” Castiel squeezed back and nodded. The two of them were standing in the middle of the room/closet staring out of the single window at the view of the courtyard. Castiel drew in a shaky breath, he felt numb. Bobby was already back at the car, the sun was setting and all friends and relatives had to be off the campus by nine. Dean would leave, and it'd be at least two weeks until he'd see him again. He had his new laptop with him so they could Skype but it wouldn't be the same.

He was sure he’d be okay, and it didn’t matter anyway because he had to be. His tuition had already been paid for this year, so he couldn’t drop out now. He would survive, it was just a matter of learning how to adapt. It was true that it would be much easier to do that with Dean by his side, but he’d just have to manage without. He'd done it before, so he could do it again.

“I have to go,” Dean whispered in a voice thick with emotion. Before he knew what was happening Dean had pulled him into one last hug. He buried his head into Dean’s neck and tried to memorise every little thing about him. From the feel of him in his arms now, to the way his hair stood up in the morning and how he quoted Star Trek at regular intervals, not caring if anybody understood. The way he smelled: like motor oil and _that_ cologne and Ellen’s cooking. The way he stroked Castiel’s wings before they went to sleep at night, and the way he kissed his temple first thing in the morning when he was still half asleep. The way his hands felt when they touched Cas’ skin, and the taste of his lips. “Okay, now I really need to go,” Dean said again, coughing in an attempt to cover the tremor in his voice. With one final squeeze he slid out of Castiel’s grip and walked briskly out of the room, trying to convince himself not to go back – it would just make leaving harder again. It shouldn't be this hard, he was going to university not about to be executed - it wasn't like they were never going to see each other again.

Castiel turned and watched him leave, trying to stop his lip from trembling. He’d spent most of his life alone, even when he was around people, but now he didn’t want to be. They’d all said he’d make new friends, but he didn’t want to. He wanted Dean; he needed Dean. He stood for a few moments, blinking the moisture out of his eyes and trying to remember how to move his limbs. He'd been away from Dean so little over the past two years, and now he had to live without seeing him maybe for weeks on end.

When the control of his muscles came back to him, he didn’t hesitate before sprinting out of the door and out of his halls, following the signs out of the building and into the parking lot out of the back door. He ignored the passing faces and the questioning glances, there were so many things he had left to say!

“Dean!” he yelled when he saw the retreating figure, about to climb into Bobby’s truck. He ground to a halt a few metres away. He couldn’t remember what he wanted to say, and now that he thought about it he wasn’t really sure he’d ever known. “I…” he started, letting his mouth hang open for a few seconds while he took a deep breath. “I love you,” he whispered, not caring that Dean couldn’t hear him. The second the words passed his lips he knew they were the truest words he’d ever spoken. He couldn't believe he'd never said it before, not really. He'd thought love was dangerous, but this - this felt unassailable. “I love you!” he shouted, not caring if anyone was in earshot. Let them hear, he had nothing to be ashamed of.

Dean’s face broke into a wide smile that lit up his entire face. “I know!” he called back, and then he was striding forwards until he could place his hands on either side of Castiel’s face and press their foreheads together. “I know, you idiot. I love you, too, angel, so fucking much.” His lips came crashing down onto Cas’, cutting off whatever the boy was about to say in response, he’d been waiting for Castiel to say that for what seemed like forever, since he’d first realised it himself one of the many times he'd gotten up to play his violin at two in the morning. He loved Cas! He loved him, he loved him, he loved him! And he never wanted to let him go, not ever. Cas’ lips were hot and wet and more forceful against his own than he’d ever experienced before, and they’d done their fair share of kissing. It was all fire and passion and silent goodbyes, and promises to see each other soon.

“I don’t want you to go,” Cas mumbled when their lips parted, both of them breathing heavily. Dean held him close, revelling in the ghost of the kiss which still remained on his lips. He thought for a moment longer, and after a few seconds of deliberation pulled his amulet from around his neck and put it around Castiel’s so that it hung next to the silver angel's wing. He’d had that thing as long as he could remember, and it was as much a part of him as his left arm was.

“I’ll call you,” Dean said, pressing one last, long kiss against Castiel’s hair and heading back to climb into the truck. Castiel stood there a moment longer, watching as the two of them drove away, but he didn’t feel quite so numb any more. He smiled to himself and walked back to his room the long way, cutting through the courtyard where new friends were milling around and enjoying the mild weather. There wasn't a single cloud in the purpling sky, giving way to the several twinkling stars at that winked down at him from above.

Without a care in the world, Cas leaped up onto the wall of the fountain in the middle of the quadrangle and skipped across it, careful not to fall into the shallow pool. He didn’t care for the few stares and remarks he got from his new classmates. He was on top of the world, completely in a state of inexplicable bliss. He needed to shout from the rooftops and sing until his lungs burst, because Dean loved him, too! Before he could even think about stopping himself he spread his arms and wings, encouraging his feathers to stand on end, and turned his face up to the moon and shouted to the sky:

“HE LOVES ME!”

* * *

_No wonder my happy heart sings,_

_Your love has given me wings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story please reblog it [here](levicas.tumblr.com/post/57269040515/title-with-wings-pairings-dean-castiel-word) as it would really help me out. All the stuff to do with this fic can be found [here.](levicas.tumblr.com/tagged/with%20wings)
> 
> A few things: Adam is named after Adam Young from Good Omens because he’s the antichrist, and the dog’s called Satan so I thought I might as well keep up that theme. A part of me died when I used Fahrenheit, damn American setting! And apparently US graduations happen in May or June but this one’s happening at the end of July and you’ll just have to deal with that. I’ve never been to any form of graduation ever (I’m only 16 guys) let alone an American one so I apologise for any inaccuracies there just point them out to me and I’ll change it up a bit to make it more accurate. Also, sorry this took so long to get out, I was doing my final edit of the previous chapters which took longer than I expected – a few of the chapters are a little meatier now and I still have chapters 13 and 14 to go over so check back for that! I hope it’s been worth the wait!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read and commented on this story, I love you all to pieces and you can all have my first born or my kidney or something. I’ve enjoyed writing this so much and I’m getting all emotional now that it’s done.


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